


I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: More Strong than Time [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Minor Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, References to Depression, References to brain damage, explicit m/f
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 07:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 55,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10552308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: Athos has fought his way back to work in the police force after twin blows of injury and betrayal. But his life is colourless and his friends, happy in their own relationships, want the same for him.Constance is working a business she hates, with a husband who treats her badly. Then one day a quiet man with sad green eyes walks into her café, and life changes forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love the canonical pairings, and the popular slash pairings. But I maintain the boys are lovely with every possible partner, so I wrote this to prove it ;)
> 
> I've tried to keep medical and police details realistic, but I'm aware that the reality for many people with traumatic brain injuries is often harder than I've portrayed it here for Athos.

Athos heard the front door opening without any sense of alarm. Porthos was expected. Porthos had a key. Therefore, it would be Porthos. His friend’s cheerful, “All right?” was confirmation.

Athos nodded, then turned and frowned. Porthos wasn’t carrying food, though he had promised supper. Athos raised an eyebrow at Porthos’s empty hands.

“Nope, we’re going out tonight, no arguments. Aramis wants us to meet his new partner.

Athos sighed and shook his head.

“He said you’d refuse, and he also said he never asks you for anything, so maybe just this once?” Athos turned wounded eyes on his friend. “You know he’s right.”

Athos surrendered. “Okay.”

“He speaks!” Porthos swept him up in a hug and spun him around, which Athos tolerated with thin-lipped annoyance. “You’ll like this café, I swear. It’s walking distance from here. Used to be called _Les Trois Oeufs_ —do you remember it?” Athos nodded. “A friend of Sylvie and Aramis took it over two months ago with her husband and renamed it _Le Roitelet_. They’ve done it up real nice, and the prices are cheap too. So put a coat on.”

Athos obeyed, because outside of work, he always did what Porthos told him. He’d learned that not doing so was simply not worth the wrangling. Besides, Porthos was smart, and hadn’t led him astray so far.

That didn’t mean he was happy about this. He hadn’t been outside the flat for social reasons since he’d moved back, and considered that to be a perfectly acceptable way to live. He didn’t need company the way Porthos and Aramis did. And if he wanted it, they were enough. Besides, he saw lots of people on the job. People weren’t anything special.

Porthos saw his expression as they headed to the door. “Give me an hour, that’s all I’m asking. Aramis says his new partner is cute and I want to check him out. It’ll be less creepy if there’s a few of us there.”

Athos gave him a look, and another raised eyebrow. Now the agenda was clear. Well, he owed Porthos that much, and if the partner really was that cute, maybe his friend would strike it lucky. The man deserved it.

The sharp wind made him wish he’d put a scarf on as well as the coat. At least it had stopped raining. He remembered _Les Trois Oeufs_ as a rather ordinary café in a neighbourhood that offered a reasonable selection of such things. But as they approached the now renamed café, he was struck by the rather lovely art deco fascia and the window art. As they entered, Athos realised the décor had been consciously based on the _Café Americain_ in Amsterdam, though cut down for a smaller space and budget. The same warm colours and similar choices in lights and artwork worked nicely on a cold October evening, drawing the casual visitor in.

Porthos spotted Aramis and his partner, and dragged Athos over. “Athos! I didn’t think you would come,” Aramis said, rising to kiss his cheeks. Athos rolled his eyes. Of course Aramis _would_ say that. “Porthos, Athos, I’d like you to meet Charles d’Artagnan, my new partner.”

The newcomer offered his hand. “Call me d’Artagnan,” he said, smiling with perfect white teeth. “Which one is Porthos?”

“That’d be me,” Porthos said, leaning in to take the lad’s hand. “And this chatty bugger is Athos.”

“Nice to meet you.” D’Artagnan turned to Porthos. “Aramis has been telling me all about you.”

 _Ah._ So it wasn’t just Porthos who had hopes about this meeting. Athos sat and looked his fill of d’Artagnan. ‘Cute’ was a perfectly good word for him. ‘Puppyish’ and ‘edible’ also came to mind. Model handsome, lean, brown, with damnably lovely eyes—if Aramis hadn’t been in a committed relationship, Porthos wouldn’t have had a chance to check d’Artagnan out at all.

A young woman came to their table, and Athos sat up to look at her, because she was worth the effort. “Good evening, gentlemen. What will it be?”

“Ah, the lovely Constance. How nice to see you again,” Aramis said, doffing an imaginary hat.

“Yes, it’s been a whole three days since you were in last,” she said, shaking her head at him. “You must have been pining.”

“My darling, a whole three hours without gazing on your beautiful features—” Aramis stopped abruptly and glared at Athos while rubbing his ankle. “Two Carlsbergs and a Hoegaarden for we three and San Pellegrino for you, Athos, yes? With ice and lemon. Two green salads and two green bean salads to begin, with two chicken and two fish mains?”

“Does he always do this?” d’Artagnan asked in a stage whisper.

“Only when he’s showing off,” Porthos whispered back. “But I’m fine with that. Athos?”

Athos just shrugged. He didn’t care, so long as the food was edible.

“I’ll bring your drinks over.” Constance walked away, to d’Artagnan’s obvious appreciation.

“Wow,” he said. “I would totally hit that.”

Aramis nudged him hard. “Uh uh. Married.” He pointed at Porthos. “ _Not_ married.”

“Right. And this one?” D’Artagnan pointed at Athos.

“Straight.”

Athos didn’t bother correcting Aramis, since his bisexuality—or any sexuality at all—was purely theoretical these days. And Aramis had never seen him with a man. Besides, d’Artagnan was pretty, but Athos was never going to fall for looks again. Not after Anne. Porthos was welcome to him.

“I’m not,” Porthos said, leering at the lad. “Straight, that is.” D’Artagnan smirked back. _Well then._

Constance returned and set the drinks down in front of them. “Aren’t you going to introduce your friends, Aramis?”

“My apologies, Madame Bonacieux. This scruffy individual is Athos de la Fère, Porthos’s partner at work.” She smiled prettily at Athos, beautiful blue eyes shining in a heart shaped face, framed by generous auburn hair. “And this troublemaker is _my_ partner at work, Charles d’Artagnan. I don’t think he’ll be around long. He’s totally incompetent, and utterly lacking in self-assurance. I give him a week, two weeks.” D’Artagnan only grinned again.

She tsked. “With a friend like that, who needs enemies, eh, Athos? Is the water all right?”

He lifted the glass carefully with his right hand, hoping it wouldn’t betray him from tiredness, and took a sip. “It’s fine,” he said, making the effort to smile.

“Then I’ll just see if your food’s ready.”

Aramis tapped Porthos on the wrist. “Is it me or was that the longest conversation Athos has had with someone who’s not one of us in almost a year?”

Athos gave him the finger and sipped his water again.

An hour came and went, but Athos felt no compelling reason to rush back to his apartment. They had a table to themselves, and the café was quiet. Porthos and d’Artagnan did most of the talking—flirting, more like—with Aramis chipping in occasionally to comment, or to mention something his beloved Sylvie had said or done. Athos had been relieved and delighted Aramis had finally fallen for a woman who wasn’t another man’s girlfriend or wife, and even more relieved that Sylvie was more than up to keep a firm grip on him. Aramis was poly, and Sylvie didn’t mind that, but Aramis would have to do a lot of negotiating before seeking another lover. No more flings with permission or forgiveness sought after the fact. Sylvie had made it _very_ clear she would walk if he tried that. Strangely, Aramis seemed to appreciate her strong line in the sand. Maybe he wouldn’t look for someone else this time.

Porthos and Aramis were used to his lack of conversation, so ignored him, and d’Artagnan far too entranced by the big, beautiful man beside him to notice. Constance flitted back and forth with food, more drinks and so on, always making a little comment to him as if she was worried he was unhappy or bored. Kind as well as beautiful then. Athos wondered what paragon of manliness had managed to win her hand.

At ten, Athos checked his watch, and nudged Porthos. “See you,” he said, and rose.

“Wait, I’ll walk back with you. Early start for both of us,” Porthos said by way of explanation to d’Artagnan.

“Us too,” Aramis said.

“Tab’s on you, since you ordered.” Porthos pushed Athos towards the door before Aramis’s outraged squawk changed into outright protest.

Constance came to say goodbye. “Nice to see you again, Porthos. And to meet you, Athos. I hope you had a lovely evening.”

Athos dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you.” He put on his coat and stepped out into the frigid wind.

“So what did you think?” Porthos asked as they walked back to Athos’s building.

“Pretty.”

“I meant d’Artagnan, idiot.”

Athos turned to look at his friend. “Pretty,” he repeated with a smirk.

Porthos laughed. “Yeah, he is. Gonna hit Aramis up for his number, see what happens. Constance was taken with you.”

Athos blinked, having to spend seconds working out what that last remark meant. Then he shrugged. It was unlikely and unimportant whether she was or not.

“But she’s married. You should see her husband. Streak of piss, he really is. Completely up himself. Conceited,” he clarified, as he remembered Athos’s difficulty.

Athos had understood. What a shame. Still, he had to have something going for him. A woman like Constance was a treasure and he couldn’t believe she wouldn’t know that.

They reached Athos’s building. “So, that wasn’t so bad. Do it again, yeah?”

Athos nodded. So long as it was no more challenging than tonight, he could cope, if it wasn’t too often.

“Great! So maybe same time next week. See you in the morning, partner.”

Athos opened his mouth to argue, but Porthos was already walking away at speed, almost as if he knew Athos wouldn’t have agreed to another visit to the café so soon. His friends knew him _really_ well, unfortunately.

************************

PorthosDV: _So, gonna give me D’s number?_

AramisDH: _Too chicken to ask him yourself?_

PorthosDV: _Nah. Didn’t want to embarrass A. Will you?_

AramisDH: _I’ll ask him._

PorthosDV: _Think he’s interested?_

AramisDH: _My friend, how can he not be? It is you, after all_

PorthosDV: _< 3_

************************

Aramis and d’Artagnan had driven to the café in d’Artagnan’s car, so Aramis climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Porthos wants your number. Do you mind if I give it to him?”

“Hell no. He’s gorgeous.” D’Artagnan started the engine, and pulled away carefully. “But what’s the story with silent and brooding?”

“Athos? That’s a very long story.”

“You’ve got twenty minutes, so....”

“Short version, shot in the head on the job eighteen months ago, so he has some residual effects. Expressive aphasia, right-sided hemiparesis.”

D’Artagnan glanced at him. “I didn’t notice any weakness in his gait.”

“Because he’s worked extremely hard to overcome his disability to the point where he can walk again. Same with his speech. Unless he’s tired or stressed, you’d never notice he had a problem.”

“So he doesn’t talk because....”

“Partly embarrassment over the aphasia, partly his nature, but the rest of it’s complicated.”

“Uh huh.”

“And not really my story to tell. He’s a good man, d’Artagnan. One of the very best. But you’ll have to prove that you’re worth talking to.”

“Good job I’m into Porthos, not him, then. Does he like your girlfriend?”

Aramis thought of how Athos had smiled at Sylvie when he introduced her to Aramis. And kept smiling. “Oh yes.”

“Shame Constance is married.”

“Is it?” Aramis rather thought it was to whom she was married, rather than the marital status, that was troubling. “Mitts and eyes off, I told you.”

“I was just saying, though.”

“That’s how it starts. Keep your eyes on the road, partner.”

“Yes, sir.”

Back at their apartment, Sylvie had already gone to bed. Aramis climbed in beside her and snuggled close. “How was it?” she asked sleepily, rolling over so Aramis could hold her properly and kiss her.

“Nice. Athos was there.”

She tensed up. “And you didn’t tell me? Bastard.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t sure. Porthos hit it off with d’Artagnan.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing, and how was Athos?”

“Good, to both questions. D’Artagnan’s a good kid. Athos stayed until ten. Didn’t say much, of course.”

“I’m amazed he went out. Isn’t that the first time since—”

“Yes.” Aramis cupped her breast and went in for another kiss. “Do you feel like making love?”

She squirmed against him. “Yeah, I really do.”

Aramis smiled against her lips, and dismissed all thoughts of his friends as he concentrated on his beautiful and needy love.

************************

“So I’ve got a date Friday with d’Artagnan.”

Athos looked up from his paperwork, at Porthos’s beaming face. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. Aramis likes him a lot. Not like that,” he added at Athos’s frown. “‘Least, I hope not for Sylvie’s sake. What’s on the pile today?”

Athos pushed over the list. Three witnesses to speak to on behalf of the magistrate regarding a serious assault, a shop keeper to interview regarding repeated break-ins, and a woman who claimed she had seen two men in her garden acting suspiciously. “This one first,” he said, pointing to the last note. He rubbed his shoulder as he spoke.

“Pain again?”

Athos dropped his hand. “Comes and goes.”

Porthos nodded sympathetically. “Let me know if you want a massage after work, okay?”

“Okay.” But Athos wouldn’t ask Porthos. The man had already done so much for him and even now, kept a more careful eye on Athos’s health than Athos did himself. Athos was now certified fully fit for work, so it was time he stopped leaning on his friends.

“Athos? Porthos?” Captain Treville stood at his office door. “I need to speak to you before you head out.”

“Yes, boss,” Porthos said.

Treville watched Athos the entire time as he spoke to them about a new case the magistrate had handed him. Athos wasn’t surprised. He’d been cleared for light duties five months ago, and it was barely six weeks since he’d been approved to return to full duties. Embarrassing as it was that his captain knew about his intimate health issues and that they were as much psychological as physical, there was no one Athos trusted more with the information. Treville hadn’t used the knowledge against him either, instead fighting Athos’s corner and making sure he could come back to work when another superior might have pushed for him to retire on medical grounds. Without Treville, Porthos and Aramis, Athos might never have quit drinking or gone back to rehab. Without their help, he might not be here at all.

Even with their help, it was still touch and go at times. Not that he would ever admit that to any of them.

************************

Porthos and d’Artagnan both lived in the same part of Antony so finding a bar to meet in was easy. Porthos arrived first, which meant he had the pleasure of watching his date walk in. The long, long legs, the straight shoulders, and the cocky way the guy carried himself were all to his liking, and when d’Artagnan turned around briefly, looking for him, the tight fit of his jeans on a cute butt was also appreciated. Porthos raised his hand to signal, and d’Artagnan walked over and sat down. “Hey, hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Been here hours. Nah, just got here myself.” The waiter came over. “Beer?”

“Heineken, if you don’t mind.”

Porthos ordered and the waiter left them alone. “So, what do you normally do on a Friday?” he asked.

“I haven’t been in Antony long enough. I only moved up here from Gers a month ago. I know one person outside work, and that’s my next-door neighbour. Oh, and now you.”

“And Athos. Hasn’t Aramis introduced you to Sylvie yet?”

“Lunch on Sunday. I don’t really _know_ Athos, do I? He said three words to me all evening. Not like you.” D’Artagnan gave him a dirty smile.

“He’s not much for talking.” Porthos wasn’t going to say more about _that_. “So, how’s working with Aramis going?”

Beyond their mutual friend, they had enough in common to talk about. D’Artagnan was mad about football, and already followed Paris St Germain. They both hated right wing politicians, but thought Hollande was wet. The working life of a paramedic and that of a cop weren’t too different in some respects, and d’Artagnan had five years experience in his home town before moving to Paris for better opportunities. They had both lost their fathers—Porthos had never known his, d’Artagnan’s had died of a heart attack two years previously—but both had biological or found families who were important in their lives. Porthos’s adopted sister Samara was very close to him, and d’Artagnan had four older sisters who bossed him about and had made him an uncle nine times over.

“So, tell me more about Athos,” d’Artagnan asked after they’d eaten dinner and were enjoying a coffee before finishing up.

“What’s to tell?” _And why do you want to know?_ Porthos didn’t say that, but Athos had been through hell, and Porthos and Aramis were both very protective of him.

“Aramis said he was shot?”

“Yeah. Cash delivery van was hijacked, and the robbers were cornered. They decided to try and shoot it out. Athos caught a ricochet here.” Porthos pointed to the left side of his head. “Pure bad luck.”

“But he made it back to work?”

“With a lot of effort, yeah.”

“Must have been determined.”

“You could say that.”

D’Artagnan cocked his head. “Okay, I’ve put my foot in it. You don’t like talking about him?”

“He’s pretty private. And he’s not here.”

“Right.” d’Artagnan gave him a rueful smile. “Sorry. I was just curious. Trying to work out the relationship between people I meet, that’s all, and he’s Aramis’s mate too. No offence intended.”

“None taken.” Porthos finished his coffee. “Fancy a walk?”

“In this weather?” d’Artagnan asked with eyebrows raised. “Unless your place is nearby.”

“Kinda what I was thinking, yeah.”

“Oh, that kind of walk. Yeah, I fancy that. A lot,” he added breathily, leaning in close.

Porthos grinned. “Better grab your coat then.”

************************

Aramis grinned with delight when he opened the door and saw d’Artagnan’s face. “That, my friend, is the face of a man who has been well and truly laid.”

“It is, and thank you.” He offered Aramis a fist bump. “We hit it off like a house on fire.”

“Screaming, panicking, water being thrown over you?”

“Ha bloody ha. Oh hi. You must be Sylvie.” D’Artagnan offered his hand politely and Sylvie shook it. ”I’m Charles d’Artagnan.”

“Yes, I know. Sylvie Boden. Nice to meet you, d’Artagnan. Let the man come inside, Aramis. It’s freezing.”

Aramis took d’Artagnan’s coat and took him into the living room. “So, tell all.”

“Does Sylvie want to hear all this?”

Sylvie plonked herself down next to d’Artagnan on the sofa. “Sylvie does. Come on. We’ve been _dying_ to find out and Porthos is being a bastard and not answering his texts.”

“I think he’s visiting his sister today. He’s great.”

Aramis beamed at him. “I told you. How was the sex?”

D’Artagnan gave him a queasy look and Sylvie shook her head in disgust. “Nicely done, Aramis. Not ‘did you have fun’ or ‘did you have lots to talk about’, no, you ask about the only thing that interests you.”

“Sorry, my love.” Aramis pasted on his brightest smile. “Did you have lots to talk about?”

“Yeah, we talked heaps while we were fucking.” Sylvie giggled and put her hand over her mouth. “Seriously, Aramis. You don’t need a blow by blow.”

“Sylvie might.” She glared. “Or not. So, it was a success?”

D’Artagnan stretched out. “I reckon it was. We’re going to go out for dinner again, and he says you guys are going back to _Le Roitelet_. this week. He thought I might like to come.”

“Oh, do,” Sylvie said. “It’ll be fun, and Constance could do with the business.”

“Athos won’t mind?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Why would he mind?” Aramis asked.

“He seems kind of shy.”

“He’s an introvert, but he knows all of us, and he met you and didn’t hate you, at least that I know of. Love?”

“He’ll be fine,” Sylvie said. “It’ll be good for him. Now, d’Artagnan, I hope you like roast lamb.”

D’Artagnan gave Sylvie one of the brilliant smiles that had already made him one of the more popular newcomers at work. “I love it.”

Sylvie, along with all her other talents, was a wonderful cook, and d’Artagnan made lots of appreciative noises as he ate that made Aramis’s lover smile happily at him. Aramis wanted all the people he liked and loved to like and love each other, so he was happy too.

They talked a bit about Sylvie’s job as a journalist, but inevitably the conversation turned to Porthos again. It wasn’t exactly love at first sight, but certainly lust at first look, and d’Artagnan spoke about their friend in a way that indicated he found him good company, not just a good shag. Aramis was delighted. Porthos deserved someone decent. It had been far too long since he’d had a long-term lover. At times Aramis felt quite guilty that of Porthos, Athos, and himself, only he had found someone who loved him and wasn’t likely to break his heart the way Athos’s wife had, or reject him for his job, the way Porthos’s former girlfriend had.

It occurred to him, belatedly, that if d’Artagnan and Porthos started dating and broke up messily, that would put him, Aramis, in a bit of an awkward position. But Aramis was an eternal optimist, and would cross that bridge later, if forced to. He hoped he wouldn’t be.

“Since Porthos has hit it off with this guy,” Sylvie said, nudging d’Artagnan, “maybe you should see if you have any other cute co-workers to send Athos’s way. I hate him being alone.”

“There are reasons,” Aramis said, his tone light, but a warning in his look.

“I know. He deserves happiness, that’s all. Everyone does. Most people do,” she amended, her expression clouding briefly.

“You sound as if Athos is your friend more than Aramis’s,” d’Artagnan said.

“He introduced me to Aramis, but he’s been their friend for more than ten years.”

“Were you two dating or something?”

“No. It’s complicated,” Sylvie said, her mouth drawn down unhappily.

D’Artagnan sighed. “Every time I ask about this guy, I get told that. Is he in some witness protection program or something?”

“Not really,” Aramis said, wishing he was sitting next to his love so he could hold her. “In Sylvie’s case, it’s tied up with the death of her father.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. Man, I keep putting my foot in it. Forget I mentioned it. Really, I’m sorry.”

Sylvie laid her hand on his arm. “It’s okay. It’s really not a secret. My dad was killed in a road rage attack a year ago. Athos, who was still on sick leave, saw it, arrested the guy, and tried to help Dad, but there was nothing anyone could do. Athos came to see me to offer his condolences, and we became close. Then he introduced me to this handsome bloke, and we hit it off straight away. So Athos is my own friend, as well as being Aramis’s mate.”

“Oh. Sorry about your dad. I know what it’s like to lose him.”

Her expression softened. “Yeah, Aramis told me about yours. So you know how grateful you’d feel to someone who was there for you afterwards, kept you going.”

“My mum and my sisters did that for each other. He sounds kind to do that when he was still recovering from his injuries.”

“He’s the kindest man I know,” Sylvie said fiercely, and even though Aramis could be insulted, he wasn’t. It was the simple truth. “He’s going to give evidence at the trial of the murderer.”

“ _If_ it ever comes to trial,” Aramis murmured.

“Huh?” d’Artagnan looked at him, then at Sylvie. “What do you mean?”

“It’s supposed to be tried in January, but the wanker has powerful friends,” she said, scowling. “He’s claiming self-defence, which is ridiculous, but his pals are backing him. They’ve been trying to have the charges dropped or reduced. Athos saw the whole thing though, and he’s a cop. His word will count for a lot with the magistrate.”

D’Artagnan put his hand over hers. “I didn’t mean to bring up something so painful,” he said quietly. “Forgive me.”

“It’s okay,” she said, before rubbing at her nose

D’Artagnan looked at Aramis and without a word, stood and changed places with him. Aramis put his arm around Sylvie’s shoulders. “I’m here, love.”

She leaned on him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. He understands what it’s like.”

“I really do,” d’Artagnan said quietly. “Don’t apologise, Sylvie. I wish I could help.”

“Talking about it helps,” she muttered, still sniffling. “God, I’m a mess. And so rude, when we have a guest.”

“I’m not a guest. I want to be your friend, and friends don’t have to apologise for being sad.”

She lifted her head, gave d’Artagnan a damp smile, then turned to Aramis. “I like him. Can we keep him?”

“I hope so. Thank you,” Aramis said to d’Artagnan, who nodded. “Shall I make coffee? Or tea?”

“Let me,” she said, but Aramis wouldn’t hear of it. “Tea then. I’ll go wash my face.”

She hurried off. D’Artagnan came with Aramis into the kitchen. “So, at least one good thing came out of that horrible mess. You meeting her,” he said.

“A very good thing, thanks to Athos. But the rest of it....” Aramis shook his head as he filled the kettle. “The killer’s boyfriend is Philippe Fèron. He’s buddies with a lot of people in the government, even the police minister. It shouldn’t be a factor but it is. She knows a conviction won’t bring her father back but she wants the guy in prison. I don’t blame her.”

“I didn’t mean to upset her.”

Aramis shrugged. “It’s inevitable if the subject comes up. And it’s good for you to know that she and Athos are really close. I mean, since you’ve shagged your way into our little band.”

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “You have a way with words, d’Herblay.”

Aramis smirked. “So they tell me. So, coffee or tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Les Trois Oeufs - The Three Eggs
> 
> Le Roitelet - The Wren (of course!)
> 
> "as he remembered Athos’s difficulty" - Athos has [expressive aphasia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expressive_aphasia) one of whose symptoms can be difficulty with "more complex sentences, with many steps interpretation dependent on syntax and phrase structure". Another symptom is using the wrong word. Expressive aphasia is one condition which can respond very well to rehabilitation.
> 
> "right-sided hemiparesis" - partial paralysis/weakness on the right side. Again, can respond well to rehabilitation


	2. Chapter 2

Constance spotted Aramis and Sylvie as they came in, and nudged Marie. “I’ll handle that group.”

Marie nodded and moved on to serve customers at another table. As Constance was leaving the counter to walk over to say hello, she saw Porthos and the cute boy Aramis had introduced her to the week before, joining Aramis. But what about....

There he was, just hanging up his coat. Athos, of the shy sad smile and the lovely eyes. She hurried over to catch him. “Welcome back,” she said, to his evident surprise.

“Thank you, _madame_.” His voice was so quiet, like he was afraid of it.

“Please, call me Constance. They’re over there. I’ll walk you over.” She led him to the corner where the others had set up. “Shame on you, Porthos, leaving your friend to trail in on his own.”

“It’s fine,” Athos said, turning pleading eyes on her.

“No, it’s not,” Aramis said, rising to shake Athos’s hand. “Just because Porthos is lost in a haze of lust.”

“Oy.”

Sylvie rose and wrapped Athos in a hug. “Ignore him. He has the manners of a goat sometimes.” She grinned at Constance over Athos’s shoulder. “Sit down, darling. It’s been ages since I saw you.”

“Two weeks,” Athos corrected.

“Ages,” Sylvie said firmly. Constance loved watching her manage Athos. He looked like he needed it. “Supper’s on Porthos, he says.”

“Oy!” The big man glared at Sylvie.

“And d’Artagnan. Sit down, sit down. Constance, what have you got for us?”

“We have grilled salmon with a bean soup starter on special. The blanquette de veau is good too. What are you drinking? Beer again?”

“San Pellegrino for me,” Athos said. “Please.”

“Of course.” But Constance wondered why as she wrote the order down. The others ordered beer and wine, and the salmon. She put her hand on Athos’s shoulder, which made him look up in surprise. “Back soon.”

She couldn’t help touching him as she delivered water, food, coffee. The way Athos sat with the others, part of the group but separate from them, looked so sad to her. It didn’t help that Porthos and d’Artagnan were only barely restraining themselves from crawling all over each other, while Aramis and Sylvie looked, as always, in love and basking in the light of each other’s affection. Athos had no one, although the affection of his friends for him was perfectly obvious. He held himself back. Constance wished she knew why. Sylvie would know.

At the end of the evening, it was Athos who presented his credit card, not the other men. “I thought this was on Porthos,” she said.

“No, that was just a joke. Please?”

She ran it through and handed the card back, with the receipt. “I hope you liked your meal.”

“It was lovely.”

“So you’ll come back? You don’t have to wait until the others do. I’ll keep you company if you pop in on your own.”

His startled green eyes went wide, and she realised she’d gone too far. “I mean, if you want it. Lots of people like to eat on their own. But you’re always welcome.”

“Thank you.” He gave her a small, uncertain smile, then headed back to the table. Minutes later, they were all gone.

Half an hour later, she closed up, and said goodnight to her staff. She only had to head upstairs to their apartment, fortunately. Their old place had been nicer and bigger, but she’d had to drive from there to their former restaurant, and on days when she closed, it had been a real effort some times to get in the car and head home.

To her surprise the lights were on, and Jacques was in the kitchen, pouring himself some orange juice. “Oh. When did you get back?” She offered him a kiss on the cheek which he accepted without reciprocating.

“Two hours ago.”

“Why didn’t you let me know?”

He frowned in irritation. “I had calls to make, and you a café to run. I knew I’d see you when you came in.”

“Okay. Have you eaten?”

He flapped his hand. “Yes, earlier. Go to bed. I’ll be in shortly.”

She hated it when he did that, dismissing her like a child, but he looked tired, and if she said anything, it would spark an argument. And she was tired. She showered and slid into bed, turning off the light because she thought he wouldn’t be long behind her.

He woke her up and when she checked the clock, it was two am. “Is everything all right, Jacques?”

“It’s fine. Go to sleep.”

“Do you have to go out in the morning?”

“Yes. I’ll be gone another three days.”

She rolled over. “I wish you didn’t have to. I miss you.”

“Well, I do have to.” But he put his arms around her and she fell asleep like that. She liked to be held. She hated Jacques travelling so much. But building a new business was hard. She had the easy part of it, starting a smaller version of what they’d had before. Jacques was starting from scratch, more or less. In a few years, he said it would all be calm and he would be able to afford to pay other people to do what he was doing now. But not until the business was making more money.

Jacques was gone by the time she woke up. She moped a little, as she always did, but went on getting ready for the day, as she also always did. She’d learned the hard way that success in business meant never having a bad day, or a sick one, and her employees depended on her. At least she had a good morning manager in Clementine, and could reliably leave the café to her until three. But that didn’t mean Constance could lounge around. There were accounts to do, suppliers to call, and menus to plan.

She checked her phone, and found a message from Sylvie. _Unexpected free morning, are you around for girl on girl chat?_

She quickly checked if there was anything that couldn’t wait a couple of hours, then replied.

ConnieB: _God yes. Here?_

SylvieBoden: _How about La vache bleue. Give you time away from the place_

ConnieB: _Perfect. See you at ten_

She quickly showered and put on her makeup, went down to the café to say good morning to Clem, then went out into the rain to catch a bus to _La vache bleue_. She was five minutes early, but Sylvie was already there, sipping a café au lait. She rose to hug her. “I’m so glad you could come. We never seem to see each other alone any more.”

Constance smiled, and sat. A waiter came over immediately and took her order for coffee and a croissant. “I know. How come the free morning?”

“Interviewee cancelled, wants to meet after hours, so the boss said I could take the time off now. How are you doing?”

“Same as always, you know. Busy. Jacques is away again.”

Sylvie touched her hand. “I don’t know how you cope. I hate it when Aramis works nightshifts.”

“I don’t like it at all, but it has to be done. You and Aramis look happy.”

Sylvie’s face softened into a loving smile. “Oh yeah. We’re talking about kids and marriage now.”

“You’ve been together a year. I’m not surprised. I’d like kids too but he has to be around for me to get pregnant.”

“Oh honey. You’re only twenty-six.”

“I know, but time goes by so fast, and then you read about how infertility becomes so much worse—” She stopped herself. “Never mind. That d’Artagnan’s a bit of a looker, isn’t he?”

Sylvie grinned. “Oh yeah. If Porthos hadn’t scooped him up, I think Aramis would be giving him hints about a threesome.”

Constance laughed and smacked her hand. “Really? I bet you’d hate that.”

“Mmmm, awful.” They giggled. “You looked pretty taken with Athos last night. Something you want to tell me?”

Constance flushed. “No. I just felt sorry for him. He looks so lonely and sad, and the rest of you were so happy. You know him through Aramis, I suppose.”

Sylvie stared. “Oh, I forgot I never told you. Athos introduced to Aramis. He’s the guy who tried to help Dad. Did I not mention his name?”

“You did not, Sylvie Boden. So that’s your hero. I was expecting someone...older.”

“He’s only two years younger than Aramis.”

“Right.” Which made him a lot older than her, Constance thought. “Is he always like that?”

“Oh that was Athos on a good night. He was relaxed and enjoying himself.”

“Really? I can’t believe he’s a cop. He’s so quiet and shy.”

The waiter brought Constance’s order and set it down. Constance tore the croissant apart and ate a piece, before noticing Sylvie’s solemn expression. “What did I say?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking how Aramis said Athos used to be so much happier. A real joker, in a dry way, and he laughed and smiled all the time.”

“Wow. What happened?”

“He was shot on the job. In the head. It affected his speech and his right side.”

“But he looks fine now...what?” Sylvie’s expression was now thunderous.

“His wife fucked him over.”

“He was married?”

“Yeah. Fancied herself quite posh but she came up from the streets. Aramis said Athos was besotted with her, like Porthos is with d’Artagnan times ten. Then he got shot. She helped look after him while he was recovering...until she stopped, and left him for his brother. Said she couldn’t cope with his disability any more.”

Constance covered her mouth in shock. “Oh my God.”

“I know right? He was determined to work twice as hard on his rehab so she wouldn’t have to be disgusted with him any more. But you should have seen him, Constance. Getting her back was all he could think of. Then four months later, when he was close to being able to come back to work, he wrote to her asking her to give him a second chance. She wrote back asking for a divorce.”

“How could she be so cruel?”

“I don’t know. Never met her but if I do, I’m going to tell her what I think of her. So Athos just lost it. He started drinking, gave up rehab, just gave up completely. Aramis and Porthos were out of their minds with worry. So this is about a month before the attack on Dad, and when I first met Athos. I tried to help but I think a woman was the last person he wanted advice from. So in the end, Porthos went to his boss and told him what was going on. His boss went around to Athos’s apartment and read him the Riot act, told him he was ashamed of him for giving up and that he didn’t even want to think about Athos coming back to work if that was his attitude.”

“Sounds like a prince.”

“No, it worked, because Athos really respects Treville, and Treville loves him like a son. Athos dried out, went back to rehab, and Treville kept his word and pushed for him to be allowed back to work. That was five months ago.”

“And the wife?”

Sylvie shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. What gets me is that it wasn’t his physical weakness that turned her off, but his speech. Even though he’s almost completely recovered from that now, he still hates to talk in case he makes a mistake and revolts people. He has no confidence at all. You’ve now met all his friends.”

“I had no idea. Poor guy. He’s so lovely—how could she do that?”

“Aramis says that injured Athos didn’t fit in with how she saw herself, and she had no patience with weakness. Listen, you mustn’t say a word to anyone about any of this. Especially not the drinking. Treville didn’t say anything to the board, Aramis said.”

“I won’t say anything. But I’m going to give him a hug when I see him next.”

Sylvie grinned. “He might die of shock.”

“No, he won’t.” Constance thought of the startled look in Athos’s eyes when she touched his shoulder. The man definitely needed more hugs.

They talked for another hour, avoiding the painful subject of Constance’s unsatisfactory relationship with Jacques, and concentrating on Sylvie’s much happier one with Aramis. “We’re going to start trying for a baby right away. He thinks now is the time, and I’m not getting any younger.”

“I wish you all the luck with it.”

Sylvie patted her hand. “You’ll have kids of your own, I know it. You’d make a wonderful mum.”

“I hope so because I make a terrible business woman.” Constance stirred her coffee. “I still wish I’d finished my degree.”

“You still could.”

“No. It’s too late, and it wouldn’t be fair to Jacques. I made my bed, now I have to lie in it.”

“The baby wasn’t a mistake, Constance. Losing it wasn’t your fault either.”

“Not getting it together afterwards was though.” God, why had she started down this road of thought. She wiped her eyes. “Enough of that.”

Sylvie pursed her lips. “What is it, exactly, Jacques is doing?”

“I’m not exactly sure. Imports and exports, I know that much. He’s still building contacts and seeking warehousing. He’s travelling all over France as far as I can tell. He has a backer who’s paying for the research, but that means he can crook his finger and Jacques has to go where he’s told. I wish it would end one way or the other. It feels like a year or more since we had dinner together, let alone went out somewhere nice.”

“Do you still take Sunday evening off?”

“If I feel like it, yeah.”

“Then you come to us for supper this week. If Jacques is back, he’s welcome too.”

Constance wondered if Sylvie really meant that. She and Constance’s husband had a rather cool relationship. But Aramis could talk to anyone, and would at a moment’s notice. “Thanks, that’d be lovely. Now, I should be getting back.”

Sylvie clasped her hand before she could rise. “Constance, if you want someone to talk to, I’m always here. Aramis too.”

Constance stood, then bent to kiss her friend on the head. “Thank you, love. Sorry I’m a bit down today.”

“You’re entitled. Remember you have friends, darling.”

“I will. Thank you.”

She left, not feeling lighter of heart exactly, but the break from the grind of café business had done her good. Maybe she should make the effort to go out in the morning more often, even if it was just to have breakfast somewhere different.

At least her woes with Jacques weren’t anything like as horrible as Athos’s with his wife. Jacques could be cutting about her lack of business acumen, but he’d never leave her over it.

************************

Porthos had never had a relationship like the one he had with d’Artagnan. It was all so fast and intense. October passed in a haze of fantastic sex and fun dates, and here they were, at the end of November, discussing plans for Xmas, while Porthos wondered if it was too soon to talk about moving in with each other. Being with Flea had been such a long time thing, and they had known each other forever, that the flare of lust, the heady happiness was long forgotten, and replaced by the bitterness of their breakup.

No chance of d’Artagnan dumping him for being a cop. The man was as devoted to his job as Porthos, and it had been a close thing, he said, as to whether he went into law enforcement or the emergency medical services. D’Artagnan had slid as easily into Porthos’s heart as he had into their close little group of friends, and if Athos was still wary, it was only because Athos was wary about _everyone_. The four of them met when they could for dinner at _Le Roitelet_ , and when Aramis and d’Artagnan weren’t off on the same nights as Porthos and Athos, Porthos took Athos there on their own. Porthos liked the café, but he liked how Constance treated Athos even more. His damaged, isolated friend bloomed just a little more after every meal there, with Constance chatting to him, touching him, treating him like he was valued and liked. Porthos would do anything for Constance. He owed her.

The one thing he couldn’t be happy about was Xmas. He and Samara were heading to Marseilles where their foster mum now lived. Aramis was taking Sylvie to Madrid, and d’Artagnan was going home to Lupiac. But Athos wasn’t going home. His parents had let him know that his bastard of a brother was planning to be there, with Anne, and Athos couldn’t face it. His parents not standing by their oldest son disgusted Porthos, but Athos refused to argue with them. “He needs them more,” was all he would say on the subject.

Athos was wrong. He was planning to work over Xmas, and while Porthos had done his fair share of doing the same, Athos didn’t have a reason not to, and that was wrong too. The best Porthos could do was to try and make Athos promise he would eat at Constance’s café when it was open, and visit Treville as he’d been invited to do. Athos had agreed these were good ideas. He hadn’t actually said he _would_ , though.

“It’s only three days,” d’Artagnan said, trying to console Porthos. “He’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know how much of a mess he can get into.”

“But he’ll be working, and Treville will keep an eye on him.”

“Yeah, but everyone will be talking about family and stuff around him. And he knows what’s happening at his parents’ place.”

“You should give him credit. He picked himself up after that bitch dumped him, right?”

“Yeah.” Porthos leaned into d’Artagnan’s neck and nuzzled there. “Sorry for going on about it.”

“Hey, I understand. It’s shitty for him. But he’s not the only one at the commissariat without a family to go home to. Next year, we should make plans for him.”

That ‘we’ make Porthos glow with happiness. “Yeah, we should.”

The week before Xmas, Porthos went out for lunch with Athos at the café, the last chance they’d have before Porthos went on leave. They were both on evenings until then. Athos had quietly but firmly insisted the subject of the holidays was over, and Porthos respected that request. Instead they talked about the serious threat of a terrorist attack in the capital over Xmas, and the extra work involved. “Makes me glad we live here, not in Paris,” Porthos said, not for the first time.

“Knowing our friends are—” Athos stopped. The sound of a man yelling came from the basement, followed by the much quieter tone of a woman. “Wait here.”

To Porthos’s surprise, Athos stood and went over to the counter, listened, and then went through to the kitchen. Porthos stood, not sure if he should follow or not.

************************

“I can’t understand how something as simple as not moving my samples is beyond you, Constance. You literally have to do nothing, but I can’t even trust you to do that, you useless cow!”

“Jacques, I haven’t touched it, and nor has Clem.” Constance cast about her helplessly, looking for the missing package. “I have no idea what happened to it.”

“Do you have any idea how valuable some of these items are? And I’ve been entrusted with them, only to find my wife has allowed them to be mislaid or stolen through her carelessness.”

This cold, vicious tone of Jacques always made Constance feel sick. She hadn’t done anything to his damn packets, but if they were really this valuable. “I—”

“Oh, be quiet. Your incompetence is truly staggering.”

A quiet voice interrupted them. “Pardon, _monsieur_ , Madame Bonacieux. Is something wrong?”

Jacques whipped around. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my basement?”

Constance, as shocked as her husband, laid a hand on Jacques’s arm. “He’s a custom...friend. Jacques, this is Athos de la Fère. He’s a police officer, and a friend of Sylvie Boden.”

Jacques narrowed his eyes. “And again I ask, why are you in my basement, _monsieur_?”

Athos smiled a little. “I was concerned for Madame Bonacieux’s safety, since I didn’t recognise the person yelling at her. It was somewhat alarming.”

Constance had never heard Athos say so much in one sitting, but then again, she had never seen him in cop mode either. “It’s fine, Athos. We were just discussing some goods which have been mislaid.”

“Ah, I see. A theft has taken place?”

“No,” Jacques said, his anger deflating. “Moved, I think. Constance, you should go upstairs and attend to your customers.”

“Yes, of course. It’s all fine, Athos. Come up with me.”

She took Athos’s arm and fled up the stairs, still shaking from Jacques’s anger crashing over her. Athos turned to her in the kitchen. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. He...he’s very tired and loses his temper easily. He works very hard.”

“I’m sure.” His eyes searched her face. “If...it becomes more than that, you’ll say something to us, won’t you?”

“I would. But he’s just tired. Thank you.”

He dipped his head and walked back out to the table area. Constance sagged against the bench, not sure whether to be relieved or embarrassed. Both, she thought.

************************

“What the hell was that all about?” Porthos demanded as Athos took his seat again.

“I think it might be a good idea to find out if Jacques Bonacieux has any record of violence.”

“Shit. For real?”

Athos nodded. Constance could make all the excuses she wanted but a good man, a man who loved his wife, would not speak to her like that, or look at her with hate in his eyes. Athos had seen too many men like that, whose fists flew easily and whose words, like rapiers, cut their partners’ esteem into shreds.

“Bugger. She deserves better.”

“Indeed. Don’t say anything.”

Porthos looked past his shoulder, and nodded slightly. The waiter came up to their table with their drinks order, and the two men kept the topic off the Bonacieux marriage. But walking back to Athos’s building afterwards, Porthos asked, “You think we should keep a closer eye on Constance from now on?”

“I plan to. The holiday season is particularly stressful for relationships.”

“Yeah, right. Good thing you’ll be around after all, eh?”

Athos smiled tightly. “Yes. See you at work later.”

At the commissariat he ran a check on Bonacieux. No record of more than traffic offences, but that meant little. He texted Sylvie and asked her to call when convenient. She rang ten minutes later. “Hi, love, what’s up?”

“You’ve known Jacques Bonacieux for some time, haven’t you?”

“Jacques? Since university. Why?”

“Has Constance ever complained to you about his behaviour? Or have you ever seen anything that worries you?”

“What’s happened, Athos?”

“I witnessed a collision between the two of them which struck me as abusive.”

Athos heard an intake of breath. “They argue, sure. I don’t like him much. He’s a bit of a sarcastic bastard, and I wouldn’t call him supportive a lot of the time. But, um, there was stuff at University and he was there for her then.”

“Stuff?”

“Stuff that’s private.”

“Ah.”

“You think he’s hitting her?”

“I think...he is hurting her, not necessarily with his arms.”

“His fists, you mean.”

“Yes.” Athos didn’t mind Sylvie correcting his mistakes, a lingering effect of the aphasia, though strangers doing it mortified him. “His words are abuse enough.”

“Want me to talk to her?”

“If you feel it appropriate. I will keep an eye on her.”

“Thank you, darling. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I hope you have a good time in Spain.”

“Will be thinking of you.”

“Thank you.”

A call came in just then, so he and Porthos headed out. There was little time to give the problem of Constance’s husband much thought the rest of the shift, but it was there at the back of his mind the whole time. He hoped Sylvie would find time to talk to Constance soon. Better coming from a friend, than a friend of that friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La vache bleue - The blue cow


	3. Chapter 3

Whether it was because Athos’s interruption had shamed Jacques, or simply made him realise how his behaviour looked to other people, he was considerably politer that afternoon, though just as cold towards Constance over the missing sample. Which finally turned up behind a box from a new supplier, and likely had been moved by them during delivery. Jacques didn’t apologise, but Constance was used to that. When he left for another three-day trip, despite Xmas being so close, she didn’t mind it as much as usual, though she wouldn’t admit that to anyone.

Sylvie texted the next day. _Time for lunch?_

ConnieB: _Only if it’s here and early, sorry_

SylvieBoden: _Suits me. See you at 12_

Constance guessed this wasn’t a coincidence, so wasn’t surprised when, once they had their food, Sylvie brought up the subject of Jacques and asked if everything was okay.

“Athos called you.”

“I called him, but yeah. What happened?”

“Oh, one of Jacques’s parcels went missing. Apparently it was an expensive item and he lost his temper. He’s under so much stress, Sylvie. And he doesn’t get enough rest.”

“Athos thought there was more to it than that. I’ve seen him be pretty nasty to you.”

Constance looked down at her plate. “His father was the same, only worse. Now _he_ was vile.”

“It’s not a competition. I only care what Jacques does to you, not what his dad did to him.”

“It’s fine. All couples argue. You and Aramis do, right?”

Sylvie frowned. “Not to the point of abuse, though. Promise me if it goes further, or he keeps doing this, you’ll tell me. Or Athos. You don’t have to endure that.”

“I won’t. But I’m no angel either, Sylvie. I’m fine. Once we get this new business set up and running, things will be fine.”

Sylvie pursed her lips. “Okay. How long are you closed over Xmas?”

The subject turned to their plans for the holidays—Xmas eve and the following day was at Constance’s mother’s, but the rest of the time, including New Year’s Eve, the café was open. “Do you expect to be busy?” Sylvie asked.

“I hope not,” Constance said with a grin. “There’ll only be me and Jacques, with a reduced menu and hours. It’s really just to say to our customers that we’re always here.”

“I hope that’s not going to be literally true.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be a small business woman. We don’t have time off.”

“Make time,” her friend said.

“Don’t worry. Next year should be easier.”

Sylvie lifted her orange juice. “To next year then.”

The weekend before Xmas saw a big drop off in custom, just as Constance expected. Jacques returned on Sunday and with the prospect of not having to travel until after New Year, and a light workload until then, was in the best mood he’d been in for months. They even managed a night of enthusiastic sex, and though Constance was still on the pill, she hoped it wouldn’t be much longer before she could stop taking it and plan for the children she longed for.

The café would close at nine on the day before Xmas eve, and Constance thought they would be lucky to have three customers. That was about right, but one of them was Athos, on his own. “It’s lovely to see you again,” she said, hugging him without thinking.

He allowed the embrace, though the colour in his cheeks told her he was a little embarrassed at the attention. “Thank you. Are you still serving dinner?”

“For you, I am. Take a seat, if you can find one,” she said, gesturing at the empty tables.

“I can come another day.”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, ushering him to a table. “What would you like? We only have a limited menu, but I can cook something just for you.”

“Please don’t,” he said, looking at the table. “Whatever your special is, and mineral water? Please?”

“Of course.” She touched his shoulder and he looked up. “Are you okay with Porthos out of town?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.” She didn’t quite believe him but she wouldn’t argue if that was how he wanted to play it.

The dish of the day was chicken meunière with dauphinoise potatoes, and Constance only had to warm it up. She fetched a bottle of San Pellegrino from the fridge, and found Jacques behind her when she turned around. “Don’t tell me we have a customer.”

“Yes. It’s Athos,” she said. “On his own, poor soul.”

“Ah. I should apologise for my behaviour. Is that for him? Let me take it over.”

Reluctantly Constance prepared the tray with the drink and a glass with ice and lemon. She prayed Jacques wouldn’t start an argument, and hovered near the counter to listen.

“Ah, Monsieur de la Fère, greetings of the season.”

Athos nodded. “And to you, _monsieur_.”

“I wish to apologise for my unbecoming actions the other day. May I offer you a bottle of wine as a token of regret and for Xmas?”

Constance bit her lip. Athos froze. “Ah. J-just the liquid.”

“Liquid?”

“Um...that.” He pointed to the tray with the mineral water. “No wine. Sorry.”

Jacques’s back went stiff. “As you wish, _monsieur_.” He set the drink down and put the glass in front of Athos with deliberate ceremony. “Anything else, _monsieur_?”

Athos shook his head. “No.”

Jacques gave him a forced looking grin and stalked back to the kitchen. “Pig,” he muttered.

Constance drew him away from the front area. “He doesn’t drink any more,” she whispered.

“Any more? Is he an alcoholic?”

“Not exactly. But it’s not personal. He had a difficult break up with his wife. Please don’t be offended. He never drinks when he comes in.”

“Still. Well, if you say it’s not personal. Better hurry up with the food then.”

“Yes, of course. I might have a chat with him, if you don’t mind. He’s on his own and everything.”

“Whatever you like,” Jacques said, turning away, clearly unappeased.

Constance sighed. She prepared the plate and the breadbasket, then took it over. “There you are. Mind if I join you for a bit? It’s so quiet this week.”

Athos smiled. “No. I don’t mind.”

She took a seat. “I don’t envy everyone travelling in this weather, and can you imagine the rush at the airports? Are you busy this week?” He nodded. “Don’t let me stop you eating. I’m only bothering you because we have no other customers.”

“You don’t bother me.”

“Thank you. So why is it so busy? Tourists?”

“That, and terrorism.”

“Oh my god. Is there a real threat?”

He met her eyes. “Sadly yes.”

Horrified and fascinated, she drew him out slowly about what the Parisian police were worried about, then how he would be spending his time off while his friends were away. “Sleeping, eating. Exercising.”

“Exercising?”

“To make this strong.” He held up his right arm. “From the shooting.”

He didn’t ask how she knew, and she didn’t lie and pretend she didn’t. “Exercise works?”

“I have to learn my brain to....” He frowned. “Learn it. No, teach it. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. That’s from the injury too?”

He looked down. “Yes. Sorry.”

She touched his cheek. “Do not apologise for being a brave police officer and being hurt on the job, Athos.”

“It’s...shaming.”

“That you mix up a word here or there? No, it’s really not. Nothing about you is shameful. You’re lovely.” He didn’t respond, and wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Have I said too much?”

“No.” He looked up. “You’re kind.”

“And you’re sweet.” She smiled. “I better start cleaning up if I’m to get away early in the morning.”

He lifted his hands from his knife and fork. “Should I—?”

“Absolutely not. You finish that, then cheese and coffee are on the house. I’m so glad you stopped by. I don’t want you to feel you can only come here if the others do.”

He suddenly smiled, ducking his head again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t scurry off without saying goodbye or I’ll be cranky. You really don’t want that.”

“No, _madame_.”

“Cheek.”

Jacques was loading the dishwasher when she returned to the kitchen. Constance waited for him to comment about how long she’d been, but he didn’t say anything. She brought Athos the cheese and coffee she’d promised, and carefully did nothing to hurry him along. He didn’t linger, though, and came to the till to pay only fifteen minutes later. She took his card and processed the charge, then handed back the card. “Now, we’ll see you before New Year, yes?”

“Yes. Merry Xmas.”

“And to you, Athos. Stay safe, won’t you?”

His eyes were serious. “Yes. You too. The roads are icy.”

“I’ll be careful.”

He nodded, then stepped out into the snow and wind. Constance hoped he had some decent food in his fridge and that he would have some time to enjoy himself. Most of all, she looked forward to seeing him again. It would be nice to report to Sylvie that her dear friend was looking after himself.

And it would be lovely just to have him around.

************************

“Careful, darling,” Aramis said, holding Sylvie’s arm as she tripped on the bottom step of their building. “You must be tired.”

“Exhausted. I’m glad to be home, but I also wish we were still there. I had such a good time.”

“I hope you did.” He kissed her forehead then let her go. “You go ahead. I’ve got the bags.”

She held the lift for him, and they rode it together, smiling at each other. It had almost been like a honeymoon, with all the sex, some tears, lots of laughter, and his wonderful family. And missing her dad, of course. That was the worst part of it. But Aramis had understood, and had been there for her every time it got to her.

Her period had come and gone, so no pregnancy this month, but she could feel her body getting ready to _be_ pregnant. It wouldn’t be long, she knew it. The thought was wonderful and terrifying. “Let’s get married as soon as the trial is over, okay?”

He grinned. “Of course. You sure you want to wait two weeks?”

“We have to wait anyway. I just want that out of the way before we start something new and wonderful.”

“Then we’ll get the paperwork started, and as soon as the trial ends, we’re off to the _mairie_.”

“Mrs d’Herblay.”

“Mr Boden.” She blinked at his suggestion. “Why not? D’Herblay is a horrible name.”

“We could make up a new one.”

“We could,” he said. The lift doors opened and Sylvie went ahead to unlock their front door. “Or hyphenate.”

“Or do nothing and be all modern. The kid can have one surname one day and another the next.”

“There’s a radical idea.”

She opened the door and managed to trip through it, nearly ending up on the floor. “Good grief, my darling,” Aramis said, rushing to help her up. “Now that’s a way to make an entrance.”

“I’m so damn tired,” she whined. “Do we really have to go back to work tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately so. You should have a shower and head to bed. I’ll bring you tea and toast.”

She slung her arms around his neck and kissed him. “You know I adore you, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he said, looking smug. “What’s not to love?”

“That, for a start. Right, to bed before I break something. Or myself.”

It was only four in the afternoon, but they had been in airports or driving to and from one all day, and it had been a late night before. Lying down helped, and Aramis’s tea and toast, along with his gentle kisses, was the restorative Sylvie needed. “I’m just going to call Athos,” he said. “Then have a shower.”

“I should call Constance.”

Aramis took himself off to the living room. Sylvie called Constance’s mobile. Her friend picked up on the third ring. “Sylvie, are you back?”

“Twenty minutes ago. Shattered but alive. How are you?”

“About the same as you, really. New Year’s Eve was incredibly busy, and it’s almost back to normal trade. You’ve caught me between rushes.”

“And Xmas?”

“Good. Really good. Jacques was so much happier for having some time off. He needed the break.”

“So did you, love.”

“Oh and Athos was in four times on his own. It was lovely to see him. I think he was a bit miserable on his own, with everyone out of town.”

Or he was worried about you, Sylvie thought. “Glad he had the sense to come to your place then. Listen, we should have breakfast. Or lunch. Or supper.”

“One of them,” Constance said. Sylvie heard the smile in her voice. “Maybe Sunday evening? Jacques will be out of town again.”

What a shame. “If you’re available, that’s all we need. I just need to check Aramis’s shifts.”

“The trial is soon, isn’t it?”

“Week after next. I so want it to be over. I feel like my life’s been on hold all these months. I can’t even properly mourn for Dad while his killer is free.”

“I understand. Maybe when it’s over, we should go to Mass together. Or have one said for his memory.”

“I’ll ask Aramis to arrange it. It’s nearly the anniversary anyway.”

“Oh, I have to go. Text me, darling. Love to Aramis.”

“And to you.”

Aramis returned a few minutes later, clean, damp, and affectionate. Sylvie snuggled with him for a bit before asking, “How was he?”

“Fine. Says he didn’t miss us at all, which might be true for all I know.”

“Constance said he was at the café a lot, but I think it was for her benefit, not his. She suggested having a Mass said for Dad after the trial, and I thought, why not?”

He kissed her forehead. “That’s a lovely idea. So here’s another. We get married, then we go to Mass as man and wife, so you can introduce me to your dad.”

She clutched his shoulders and held him close. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“Bad cry or good cry?”

“Good cry.” She wept a few tears on his shoulder. “I miss him and the worst bit is that he would love you so much. He’ll never know you. Our kids will never know _him_.”

“They will because you’ll tell them about him. Show them photos, let them read his books, listen to the recordings of his lectures. And he’ll watch over them, even if they don’t know it.”

That made her sob, but he laid her down and held her, kissing her cheek and her neck until she calmed. “We will make a family together, and everyone who made us, will be part of it, whether they’ve passed on or not. I swear that on my mother’s life, Sylvie. Our history is theirs.”

“You know the best things to say to me. You always do. Love you, Aramis.”

“Love you back.” He put a hand on her breast. “Still want to sleep?”

She smiled. “Yeah. Eventually.”

************************

Porthos offered to take the day off when Athos was to give evidence at the trial of Guy Marcheaux, the man who’d beaten Hubert Boden, Sylvie’s dad, to death. But Athos had insisted it was unnecessary, that giving evidence was routine for a cop, and that Porthos should keep his leave for something important. Porthos had given way, though he had laid his worries out before d’Artagnan and let his lover soothe them. Athos would be fine, and if he stumbled on a word or two, the judge already knew about his aphasia and would make allowances. The main thing was that he’d seen and heard the entire attack, and knew Marcheaux was a murderer.

An hour before the end of his shift, he got a text from Aramis, asking him to call immediately. “Hey, what’s up?”

“It’s a disaster. I’m taking Sylvie and Athos to our place, but you need to get back here for him. He walked, Porthos. The guy fucking walked.”

 _Shit._ Porthos rushed to Treville’s office. “Sir, I need to leave early. It’s Athos.”

Treville stood. “Go, go, and let me know what’s happening. Maybe I should come with you.”

“Let me see what’s going on, sir. I’ll call you.”

Porthos caught the Métro to the station, and while waiting for the train to Antony, he texted d’Artagnan to say he might be late meeting him, and that Aramis might need his support. How could the guy have walked?

Forty minutes later he was at Aramis’s building, and being buzzed up. Aramis opened the door and let him inside without a word. In the living room, Sylvie was on the couch, crying, and Athos was stood in the corner of the room holding himself tight, white as a sheet. “What the fuck happened? Aramis? Athos? Someone talk to me.”

Aramis went to sit by Sylvie and held her. “He got off the murder charge.” Aramis’s teeth were gritted so hard Porthos could barely understand him.

“What? How?”

“Athos. They destroyed his evidence. Said he’d been drinking and it couldn’t be relied on.”

“But he wasn’t.”

Aramis shook his head and pulled Sylvie closer. “Help him.”

Porthos went over to Athos and tried to hug him, but Athos wouldn’t allow it. “Leave me alone.”

“Athos, you weren’t drinking. What happened?”

“I can’t...no. Leave me. Sylvie needs...go away.”

Porthos threw his hands up in the air. “Will someone _please_ tell me what happened?”

Still holding Sylvie, Aramis told him. Marcheaux had been convicted of involuntary manslaughter, receiving a suspended prison sentence of three years. But he was free, and had escaped the much more serious charge, and had been allowed to put forward the narrative that Sylvie’s father had provoked the fatal assault. It had all come down to the defence pushing Athos’s medical condition at that point, his inability to understand complex speech, his failure to attend rehab, and his drinking.

“But he wasn’t drunk,” Porthos said. “He never went out drunk. He drank at home, and not so much that he couldn’t remember stuff.”

“The shopkeeper said he was drunk when he came in to buy groceries just before he saw the attack. His doctor testified that Athos had been drinking too much for a couple of months, which inhibited his recovery.”

“So the shopkeeper lied?”

“I don’t know.” Sylvie buried her face in Aramis’s neck. Aramis gave Porthos a helpless look. “I need to put her to bed and be with her. Can you please look after Athos? Make some tea or something?”

“Go, I’ve got this.”

Aramis led Sylvie out and down the hall to their room. Porthos went to the kitchen to put the kettle on, give Athos a chance to realise they were alone and he had privacy. “Tea or coffee?” he asked. No answer. Athos would want tea. Or a drink. Tea.

He brought the tray with mugs and pot out to the living room. “Come and sit down, Athos. You can’t stand there all night.”

“I’m going home.”

“Then I’m coming with you.” Athos lifted his head and glared. “Mate, if you think I’m letting you be alone in this state, you’re delusional. Sit down.”

Athos uncoiled and shuffled over to the other armchair. He refused to look at Porthos, but took a mug of tea to hold in his hands. He could wait for Athos to be ready to talk. He’d done it often enough. He drank his tea and texted d’Artagnan. _Crisis situation with Athos and Sylvie. Can’t make it tonight._

d’Artagnan_of_Lupiac: _Need a hand?_

PorthosDV: _Yeah but I have to do this alone. Tomorrow might use your shoulder_

d’Artagnan_of_Lupiac: _Anytime, love. Let me know if you want me to come over_

PorthosDV: _Thanks, darlin’_

Thank God he wasn’t a clingy or jealous lover. Porthos hated that.

He sent a message to Treville briefly outlining what happened. Treville replied almost instantly. _Take tomorrow off to deal with it. Him too. That’s an order_

Porthos winced a little. He doubted this order would make Athos feel any better. On the other hand, it was kind of necessary, considering.

When Athos poured himself more tea, Porthos tried again. “Want to tell me how it went down?”

“I failed her. If I had gone to rehab, I could have stopped Marcheaux. Saved his life.”

“Or maybe you’d have both been killed. Marcheaux is nearly two metres tall, solid muscle, and works as a bouncer. You are not, and Sylvie’s dad wasn’t either. Were you drunk that morning?”

Athos finally looked at him, eyes wide. “No! I swear, Porthos.”

“Then the shopkeeper lied, and we can try to prove that.”

“It wasn’t just him,” Athos mumbled. “CCTV near the shop showed me swaying, walking funny.”

“From the hemiparesis. Didn’t the prosecutors point that out?”

“And I...mixed up words. Sounded stupid. The judge didn’t like it.”

Porthos sighed. “I doubt that. Someone’s been digging up dirt and adding a bit more. We should prove you weren’t drunk.”

“It’s not me. Sylvie. They were going to get married.”

Porthos was confused for a moment. “Aramis and Sylvie? Great! So why can’t they get married now?”

Athos looked down at his mug and didn’t answer. _What a mess_.

Aramis emerged, looking tired and miserable. “Any of that tea left?”

“I can make some more.”

Aramis nodded and sat down on the sofa while Porthos busied himself in the kitchen. He heard them talking but didn’t listen in. When he returned with the teapot and more mugs, Athos was still staring at the floor and Aramis now wore his pissed off expression. “None of this is his fault, Porthos. He won’t listen.”

Porthos set the tea tray down. “What’s this about you guys getting married?”

“We were going to—we’re still going to—go to the _mairie_ after the trial. The paperwork’s all done.”

“Congratulations, but why does—”

“Sylvie said some stuff while she was still reeling from the verdict. Athos, we’re still going to get married. And the verdict wasn’t your fault. The court made a mistake. I’ll call the prosecutor’s office tomorrow and find out if they intend to appeal.”

“And I’m going to find out if that shopkeeper had pressure put on him.”

“No, that’s against the law,” Athos said. “Leave it alone.”

“Nothing saying I can’t do a little snooping. I don’t have to talk to the man.”

“Don’t. If there’s an appeal...don’t, Porthos.”

Aramis shook his head. “I think Athos is right on this, my friend. Leave it until we know if there’s to be an appeal.”

“No one turned up that missing CCTV footage near the attack scene then? Funny that,” Porthos said. “It’s a stitch up. Bloody Fèron fixed it.”

“Yes, so we can assume,” Aramis said. “We can’t do anything more today. I have tomorrow off, and Sylvie’s going to take it off as sick leave.”

“Treville’s told me and Athos to take it off too.” Athos glared up at him. “Nothing to do with me, mate. Says it’s an order.”

“I’m a failure.”

Aramis sighed and looked up at Porthos, who shook his head. “You two want to stay over?”

“Nah. I’ll take him home in a bit. But maybe we should meet up tomorrow evening to talk? At Constance’s?”

“That’s a good idea. Everyone should be calmer then.” Aramis turned as he heard Sylvie’s footsteps. “Oh hello, love. Why are you up?”

She was in a dressing gown, and looked ill, her face pale and her eyes red. “Athos.”

Athos looked up. “I’m sorry, darling.”

“Come here.”

Slowly he rose and went to her. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. All Porthos heard was, “Not your fault,” over and over. Athos shook in her embrace, and Porthos guessed he was crying.

Aramis cocked his head to signal to Porthos they should head to the kitchen. They crept out and shut the kitchen door. “You really should still get married,” Porthos whispered.

“I plan to. But Sylvie had it in her mind that this would lay her father to rest properly, and now...she feels like she let him down.”

“If she feels that way, imagine how Athos feels.”

“It’s not their fault. The system is crooked. But what can we do about it?”

“I already told you what I can do.”

“No, Porthos. Don’t risk your job. Look after Athos. Damn, what a shitty thing to do though. He’s been so good lately. I hope this doesn’t send him back...you know.”

Porthos folded his arms. “I won’t let him, and neither will Treville. He’s stronger than he knows. We all just need to stick together, help each other.”

“What about d’Artagnan? Will he feel a little left out?”

“Nope. He’s not like that. He was ready to come over and help me tonight with him.”

“Athos would be mortified.”

“‘S’what I figured. But d’Artagnan is there for me. I can count on him.”

Aramis smiled. “As do I. Think we can go back?”

“May as well.”

Athos and Sylvie were still on their feet, but she was holding his hands, and neither of them were weeping. Athos looked at Porthos as he and Aramis came in. “I’m going home now. Alone, Porthos. I’m fine. You go out with d’Artagnan.”

“You really think that’s all that matters to me? And Treville told me to sort you out.”

“You have. You can come home with me if you need to, then you go out.”

Sylvie nodded. “Trust him, Porthos.”

Porthos lifted his eyebrows. “Well, if you’re sure. What about you, love?” He went to her and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“We all are. But it was never going to bring Dad back, was it? We just have to go on.” She sniffled and rubbed her nose. “Aramis, we’re still getting married, yeah?”

“Oh yes. I’ll let you guys know the date, and then we’ll arrange a proper wedding party in the spring. Celebrate life and living.”

“And love,” Athos added. “Always love.”

Porthos grinned at his friend. “He’s right there. Okay, I’m not babysitting you back to your flat because you’re a grown up. But I’ll come right over if you need it and I will kick your backside from here to the Eiffel Tower if I find out you did need me and didn’t call. Got it?”

“Yes, Porthos.” Athos leaned in and bumped noses gently with Sylvie. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will. Love you.”

“Me too.”


	4. Chapter 4

Contrary to his friends’ perception, Athos was not about to do something stupid because of a humiliating and incredibly disappointing experience at the trial that day. It had been an unexpected blow, all the more so because he routinely gave evidence in court and had never been subjected to this kind of discrediting before. Nothing would convince him that he couldn’t have done better, and he ached for what it meant for his dear friend, but he’d survived Anne and Thomas’s betrayal. He wouldn’t harm himself over this.

He had meant it when he said he’d be fine if Porthos went off to see d’Artagnan. That didn’t mean his own company was a joy. He wandered around the flat at a loss for what to do. He texted Treville to say he was okay, and could easily work tomorrow. The swift, blunt reply— _Take the day off, that’s an order_ —brooked no argument, but left him with unwanted time on his hands.

A look at his fridge told him he had the makings of an uninspired meal, if he was content with one, but it made him realise that he needed the tonic of a certain young woman’s company. A guilty pleasure and one he tried not to abuse under the cover of watching out for her safety, but Constance was a comfort and balm that he was becoming dependent upon. Too dependent, really.

But tonight he wasn’t strong enough to resist the pull of Constance’s gentle friendship, even if it was merely her innate kindness towards a man she rightly perceived as damaged. If Porthos and Aramis had taught him anything—and they had taught him a great many things—it was that he couldn’t do everything on his own, and there was no shame in borrowing the strength of others, so long as that did them no harm.

So having made sure his face was washed and he looked no more pathetic than usual, he headed out into the cold night air to walk to the café. The warm light in the window drew him in, feeling a little like he was coming home—an illusion, since his parents’ house had never looked like this, nor had his apartment with Anne. He stepped inside, and was immediately greeted with a joyful, “Athos!” Constance came over and hugged him, a habit he had never understood or dissuaded. “Come and sit, my lovely.” She stopped and looked into his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

The woman had to be bloody telepathic. Athos sat at the table she selected, and she sat on the other chair. “Have you spoken to Sylvie?”

“Oh my God, the trial! What happened?”

“He was acquitted of murder.” Constance gasped, her hand over her mouth. “Convicted of involuntary manslaughter and given a suspended sentence.”

“But you saw—” She stopped. “No, I can tell you don’t want to talk about it. Sylvie?”

“Aramis is with her. They’re both off work tomorrow.”

“I’ll call her then.” She peered at him again. “Something happened with you, though.”

He waved her concern away. “I’m fine. Just hungry.”

“Of course you are,” she said with heavy scepticism. “ _Boeuf bourguignon_ is on special, with mashed potatoes. Vegetable soup to start.”

“That’s perfect.”

She patted his shoulder. “Won’t be long.”

The café was half-full and Constance’s particular attention to one lonely man hadn’t gone unnoticed. Athos stared at the table and pretended he hadn’t seen the odd looks. A particularly raucous laugh followed by what sounded like a vulgar remark made him look up and glare, but the offender couldn’t be readily identified. He kept glaring fiercely, hoping it would deter more of the same.

Looking around for the man who’d made the remark, he spotted three people at a table in the far corner. They caught his attention, and not just because one of them was Jacques Bonacieux, playing customer instead of helping his wife behind the counter. One of the men looked familiar to Athos, though the other one was not.

After he pushed his damaged brain to its limit, a name came to him. _Grimaud. Lucien Grimaud._ Rumoured drug lord from Marseille, rumoured hard man, rumoured loan shark and financier of crime, often fingered in investigations by felons, but never charged or convicted of anything. And here he was talking to Jacques Bonacieux, ostensibly an upright citizen and honest businessman.

Constance returned with his mineral water. “There you go, love. Food won’t be long. ”

Athos beckoned her to lean in. “Constance, the men with your husband. Do you know them?”

She kept her voice low. “No, I don’t. Should I? They’re business associates, he said. Just in town for a quick meeting.”

“And that business is?”

“Import and exports. Athos, what’s wrong?”

He made an effort to smile. “Nothing. I was curious. Sorry to be rude.”

She frowned at him. “You weren’t. I could ask him if you want to know.”

“No, please...don’t. Don’t mention my interest at all.”

“Something _is_ wrong.”

“No, no. Just curiosity. Forget I said anything. Please.”

“All right.” She glanced at the men, who had paid neither of them a shred of attention. Clearly Grimaud wasn’t hiding his association with Bonacieux. “I texted Sylvie. You’re all coming here tomorrow, she said.”

“Yes. I forgot to mention it. Is that all right?”

“It’s fine. More business. We need it at the moment. I’ll be back shortly.”

Athos regretted asking Constance about it now. It might be nothing untoward, but years of being a police officer had taught him to observe all the time, take notes, and never dismiss anything as a coincidence without solid proof. Not that his powers of observation had done him much good in court today. George Marcheaux had literally got away with murder, even though Athos had seen the entire thing, heard almost all of it, and had been as sober as a nun. He could have thought the shopkeeper had simply mistaken the symptoms of his head injury for drunkenness had the man not said that Athos ‘reeked’ of whiskey. Whiskey? He never touched the stuff.

His gloomy thoughts dragged him down until Constance stopped the slide by delivering the food and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk, love?”

Athos shook himself. “No. Thank you. I’m sorry business is slow.”

“Oh, that. It goes up and down. Pleasures of running a small business.” She fiddled with the plates. “Porthos wasn’t free for you tonight?”

“I sent him away to be with d’Artagnan.”

“Ah.”

“I insisted, Constance. I’m fine.”

“But you wanted to come here anyway.” She smiled at him, dimples in her beautiful face.

“Yes, I did,” he answered with perfect honesty. “You make me welcome.”

“Always. Now eat up. The soup’s my mother’s recipe.”

Athos smiled in thanks, and started to eat. She waited until he nodded approvingly at the taste of the soup, then went to serve other customers.

The meal was delicious and went some way to alleviating the deadening misery in his heart. Constance hugged him again as he put his coat on. “See you tomorrow. Don’t mope too much, okay?”

“I’ll try. Thank you.”

“Good night, love.”

As he stepped into the cold air, he wondered at Constance’s easy affection, the kindness she showed everyone, her cheerful temperament even with the business and her marriage that had to be a cloud on her emotions. Athos remembered a time when he was a little like that too, but that was eons ago, before a bullet and a treacherous brother and a faithless wife had forced him to rebuild his life and his person from the ground up. The man he’d been all that time ago no longer existed.

Athos missed him though.

************************

Athos knew he would be yelled at when he walked into the commissariat, but he could deal with that. He was in civvies, acknowledging Treville’s order in the letter if not the spirit, but his boss was unlikely to be impressed.

Treville stood and leaned on his desk. “Lieutenant de la Fère, why are you here?”

“Boss, I—”

“Shut the damn door.” Athos obeyed. “How are you, you insubordinate bastard?”

“I’m fine, sir. Angry, frustrated, but that’s not why I’m here. Lucien Grimaud.” Treville frowned. “He was in Antony last night. Meeting Jacques Bonacieux, the husband of a café owner Porthos and I are friends with.”

“Grimaud’s bad news, but what does this—?”

“Bonacieux is trying to set up a new import and export business. His wife confirmed that Grimaud was there for a business meeting.”

Treville exhaled. “And you think the commodity being imported and exported might be something to take an interest in.”

“I was at the café a month ago, before Xmas. Bonacieux had some ‘samples’ stored in the cellar and they’d been mislaid. His anger over not being able to find them seemed...out of balance.”

“Disproportionate, you mean?”

Athos nodded. “He was being abusive to his wife over it. I intervened for her sake. I wasn’t interested in the goods at that point.”

“Perhaps you should have been. Did the wife know what it was?”

“No. All she knew was that it was valuable to her husband in some way. She doesn’t know much about what he’s doing. He travels a lot.”

“Interesting. None of this explains why you had to disobey my order and come in personally.”

“Expiation, sir.”

Treville grunted. “Porthos told me what happened at the trial. I looked up the details. He says you were set up.”

“Yes.”

“He wants me to investigate the shopkeeper.” Athos said nothing. “You’re certain he was lying.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right. I’ll speak to the prosecutor’s office. But no promises.”

“No, sir.”

“Since you’re here, you may as well run a check on Monsieur Grimaud and this Bonacieux.”

“Of course.”

“Then you go home. No, wait. You can have lunch with me and then go home.”

“Lunch, sir?”

“Yes. So I can tell you in precise detail why I wanted you to take today off, you idiot.”

Athos smiled. “Yes, sir.”

************************

The anonymous parcel in the corner of the cellar was grating on Constance’s curiosity, and the effect grew worse every time she went down to get something. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Jacques had answered her questions about the meeting with the two out-of-towners, but he’d dismissed her sarcastically and more than usual bitchiness. That and Athos’s query, had made her start to think her husband was hiding something, and the more she thought, the more she believed it. Jacques had never been explicit about what the business was he was trying to set up, and the identity of his partners was unknown to her.

She’d been incredibly naïve not to push. What if he died tomorrow and left her with a pile of debts from this enterprise? And he’d insisted on the café being in her name alone, while the rest of the profit from their Paris café was put into setting up this new project. Was that normal? It didn’t feel right at the time but he’d been the businessman, she was the failed journalism student with nothing but a dead baby to show for her years at University. She’d let him take charge.

But what was he involved in, and involving her in?

Two days after the meeting, she went to the cellar and picked up the parcel. It was heavy, solid, lumpy. She poked at it, hoping something would fall out ‘by accident’. But nothing did, so she peeled away some of the tape on the underside, then the paper. To her surprise, it appeared to be just a collection of rather cheap and badly made models of the Opera house. Why would Jacques be driving back and forth across France, for days and weeks at a time, for this kind of tat?

She let one of the models fall. It cracked, and she pulled it open. She stared in frozen shock at what fell out into her hand, then hastily pushed it all back in, shoved the model together and put it back in the parcel, before sealing it all back up and returning it to its original position.

She sat on a box and shivered. “Jacques, what have you done?” And what was she to do? If she called the police, he’d be arrested. _She’d_ be arrested, possibly.

She couldn’t call them. But she could call Sylvie.

“Are you certain it’s illegal drugs?” her friend asked.

“No, but why else would pills be hidden inside cheap plaster tourist crap? I don’t know what to do. If I get rid of it, Jacques will explode.”

“And if you don’t, one of you is going to be done for possession. Why don’t you call Athos?”

“I can’t! What will he think of me? And he’ll have to deal with it officially, won’t he?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I could call him, tell him what it’s about without naming anyone. See what he says. Jacques is away?”

“Yeah, until Saturday. Oh God, I’ve been so stupid, trusting him.”

“You don’t know that he even knows, hon.”

This was true. “But that means someone’s using him. Or setting him up for a fall.”

“Yeah, maybe. Let me talk to Athos. He won’t rush to judgement. He’s not like that.”

“I don’t know, Sylvie.”

“Hon, if the police raid and you have to admit you knew about this, you’ll have no defence. Please, let me help you.”

“Okay. But please be discreet.”

“Always, Constance.”

She heard nothing more that day. But that afternoon, Athos, Porthos and Sylvie came in, ostensibly to see her and have coffee and cake. The two men were in civilian clothing, and nothing in their greetings or demeanour indicated they were there on duty. Constance and Sylvie hadn’t seen each other in person since before the trial, so Constance’s hug held an extra layer of sympathy and comfort. As Sylvie accepted it, she whispered, “Act normal, okay?”

Constance stiffened, but then nodded. When she released Sylvie, she caught Athos’s eye. He gave her the barest nod. Act normal. Right. “What would you all like? We have a new selection of _petite fours_ on special, if you’d like to try them?”

She took their order. Athos followed her back to the counter. “Madame Bonacieux, I would like your advice on a private matter, if you have the time.”

“Of course, Athos. Marie, could you take the order for their table? Thank you. Downstairs is best, if you want privacy.”

She led him down to the cellar, and made sure the door was closed. “I hope you’re not here to arrest me,” she said, trying to smile.

“Constance, please. Show me this parcel.”

She took him over to the corner where it lay undisturbed. “It appeared after that meeting. You know, the one you were curious about. You had a reason to be curious, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. Has anyone else touched it?”

“Not that I know of, but I can’t be sure.”

He nodded and put on a pair of latex gloves before picking it up and examining it. “And your husband isn’t back for a few days?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll take this to our commissariat for them to look at. Don’t worry, it’ll be returned, apparently untouched before he returns.”

“Athos, if it’s drugs, what will you do?”

He put the parcel into a large clear plastic bag, and hid it under his jacket. “What will _you_ do? Tell him?”

“Of course not! But what if he doesn’t know about them either?”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves, Constance. I must ask you not to talk to anyone else about this, not even Sylvie, until we get back to you. I’ve already spoken to my boss and we have several possible approaches. Are you willing to let us bug your apartment?”

“Yes?” she answered uncertainly. “But...I could be helping to convict him of a crime.”

“You aren’t obliged to help. But you might also be clearing his name.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course you can. You’ve done the right thing by the way.”

She hugged herself. “I want the pills to be some kind of stupid sweet or something. A joke. I don’t want him to be smuggling drugs.”

“I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

He nodded. “If anyone asks, I wanted advice about a gift for Sylvie’s marriage. Which is next week, in case she didn’t tell you. Wednesday morning.”

“She hasn’t yet, but she’s had so much to think about.”

“I should get your phone number, if you don’t mind.”

“No, of course I don’t mind.” She pulled hers from her pocket and sent a text to the number he read out to her. “There. Now you can call me whenever you want.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “That would be nice.”

“Athos, speaking of Sylvie, what’s happening about that bastard?”

His expression closed in. “Nothing I can discuss, I regret.”

“Oh. Okay. We’d better....”

“Yes.”

She wished she could ask him for a hug. This was all so much more frightening now the police were involved.

************************

Athos and Porthos ate a couple of petite fours and drank their coffee, anxious to convey the impression they were at the café for purely social reasons. But as soon as practical, they excused themselves, and caught the train back to Paris. By rights, they should have taken the parcel to the local police, but Jacques Bonacieux’s ill-judged association with Lucien Grimaud had much wider implications, and Treville had already cleared it with the Antony commissariat.

Athos booked the parcel into evidence, and took it down to the lab. “I want everything you can get without making it obvious someone’s been into it.”

“You don’t want much, do you, de la Fère?”

Athos just looked at the technician. His request was simple and exactly what was required. It needed no comment.

He didn’t expect any results until the following day, but when he and Porthos returned to the commissariat near the end of their evening shift, he found a message from the lab with a list of the identified and unidentified fingerprints found, and the name of the drug in the pills. He showed Porthos.

“Boom,” his partner said, looking up at him.

“Boom,” Athos agreed.

The next move required Constance’s cooperation—or, at least, would be a lot easier with it—so Athos sent her a text asking her to call. She did so immediately, though it was nearly midnight. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said.

“No, still up. I don’t think I’ll sleep, worrying.”

“Can you come to our commissariat tomorrow? You’ll be meeting my boss.” Treville had told Athos he wanted to speak to her as soon as possible once the identity of the drugs was known. The identity of some of the people handling the package had been an unexpected bonus.

“Will you be there?”

“I’ll make sure I am,” Athos promised.

“What time?”

“When does it suit you?”

“Midday?”

“Then that’s fine. Please don’t tell anyone, and be discreet. I’ll meet you at Reception.”

Athos and Porthos logged off, and walked together to the Métro. “Do you think Bonacieux knows what he’s carting around for his big powerful buddies?” Porthos asked as they stood on the platform.

“No idea.”

“Can’t see the point of stashing it in the café cellar for days at a time, though.”

“Waiting for a buyer. Shaking anyone following the goods. Plausible deniability.”

Porthos laughed. “For a guy who doesn’t talk much, you say a lot when you do.”

Athos turned to him and lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t deign to comment on the remark.

He lay in bed that night thinking about Constance, and the effect her husband’s illegal—conscious or unconscious—activities might have on her. This could ruin her life as she knew it, and though Athos thought very little of Jacques Bonacieux, he had no wish to destroy Constance along with him.

On the other hand, the drug found in the souvenirs was very dangerous and connected to some decidedly vile organisations. As a police officer and a loyal citizen of France, Athos had to help discover the source of the supply and those funding its dispersal. He would do all he could to protect Constance while he did so, but the nation had to come before personal preference.

Cold comfort to her and Athos alike, unfortunately.

He made sure he was early to meet Constance, so he could speak to Treville first. “How much cooperation can we expect from her?” his boss wanted to know.

“I’m not sure. I doubt she’ll tell him we’re carrying out surveillance, but more than that, I don’t know.”

“[The organised crime subdirectorate](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Police_\(France\)) will want to know if this is as hot as I think it is. I want Grimaud and Bonacieux’s vehicle movements over the last month tracked. CCTV, toll points, all of that. I want to know who they’re meeting, and how often they’re meeting each other.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and I received notification on the Marcheaux case from the prosecutors. They’re considering an appeal. So is the defence.”

“The defence? Why?”

“They claim there should have been no conviction since it was purely self-defence.”

Athos felt his skin prickle with cold, the effects of the adrenaline rushing through him. “It’s a lie,” he said with a tongue turned thick and clumsy.

“Yes, I know. The shopkeeper is being investigated. I wouldn’t mention this to Sylvie Boden just yet.”

“No.” If the defence appealed successfully, it would break his dear friend’s heart. “Sir, I should go downstairs and meet her.”

“Yes. Bring her straight in.”

Constance was big-eyed, pale and unsmiling when Athos met her. She put her arms out, but it was he who hugged her, feeling the tremors of sleeplessness and worry. “I’m sorry. I'm such a nelly.”

“You are not. It’ll be all right. I promise you.”

“You do?”

He fixed her with a look. “I do. Somehow it will be okay.”

“I want to believe you.”

“You should. The boss said to come right up.”

He led her to the lifts, and through the desks to Treville’s office. The captain rose to greet her as Athos introduced them to each other. “Madame Bonacieux, thank you for coming in. I understand how difficult this situation must be for you.”

She nodded, and sat where Athos indicated. She reached for his hand, holding it in a vice-like grip, then looked at him as for permission. He smiled to put her at her ease.

“Your suspicions were correct—the pills are illegal drugs. I won’t tell you more than that at this stage. There is evidence on the package of several individuals handling it, individuals of great interest to us. When did your husband start his new business?”

“About a month after we bought the café, so, five months ago? He can’t be involved in drug dealing, captain. His family are very respectable.”

“We don’t know what he’s involved in personally,” Treville said. “But it’s who’s involved with him we want to know about. Apart from the meeting last week, has he ever brought business partners to the café before?”

“No, never. I was just pleased he did, rather than travelling to meet them.”

“Did he tell you anything about them?”

“Not a thing. He doesn’t talk much about what he’s doing. Although about a month before Xmas, he seemed excited. As if he made some kind of breakthrough, or made a deal he was happy with.”

Treville pursed his lips. “May I ask why you don’t enquire about the business?”

“Um, he’s been under a lot of stress, and when I talk to him about it, it puts him in a bad mood. We see each other so rarely that I don’t want to make every time we do into a quarrel.”

Athos and Treville exchanged looks. “I understand,” the captain said. “We need to know who he’s working with, and who he’s meeting. We need a couple of things from you. One, that you tell us when he leaves and when he returns. Two, we need access to his vehicle and phone. The car is easy, but the phone...is it possible you could secrete it outside for a few minutes?”

“Maybe,” she said, glancing at Athos with a worried frown. “What do you need to do to his phone?”

“Tracking software. So we can follow his movements.”

“I see.” She looked down at her lap. “He’s my husband. If I do this, I’m betraying his trust.”

“If he’s using the café to knowingly store drugs which might lead to your prosecution, he’s betraying yours,” Treville said.

She looked at Athos. “What should I do?”

“If you don’t help, how will you feel? He’ll continue what he’s doing.”

“I could warn him.”

“That would make you an accessory,” Treville warned. “You have a choice not to cooperate, but we will pursue this nonetheless.”

“If he’s innocent, the more evidence we collect against his partners will help to prove that,” Athos said.

“Or he might agree to testify against them in exchange for immunity,” Treville added. She bit her lip. “Madame, we can get this information in other ways but it’s clumsier, slower and less accurate. All you will do is speed its collection, and bring this criminal activity to an end much sooner. Your husband will not suffer more for your cooperation.”

“All right. But if he finds out what I’ve done, our marriage will be over.”

“He doesn’t need to find out,” Athos said.

“Athos will return the package to you before his return. Inside there will be a GPS tracker, hidden in the packaging layers.”

“Won’t he notice someone’s been messing around with it?”

“Our people are very good,” Treville assured her, and Athos nodded. “Even if the tracker’s discovered, it doesn’t look like anything much at all. We need to know who’s buying this stuff. We know some of it is being used to fund terrorism.”

She clutched her throat. “No.”

“Unfortunately. So what you are doing is important, and I wouldn’t ask you to help us if it wasn’t.”

“I can’t guarantee I can get his phone away from him.”

“We’ll see how it goes. Now I’m sure you need to get back to your café.”

“I do. When will the package be ready?”

Treville looked at Athos, who answered. “Tomorrow. I’ll bring it over before my shift.”

“Hide it in a gift bag, please. I told my staff what you said about the wedding.”

“Certainly. Sir, shall I escort her out?”

“Please do. Once again, thank you, _madame_.”

Constance took Athos’s arm as they walked out, and it was likely because she physically needed the support. She was still shaking, and her face even paler than normal. He patted her hand as they waited for the lift and she looked at him, her lower lip wobbling. “I can’t stop feeling like I’m betraying him. It’s not right for a wife to do that.”

“No,” Athos agreed, without explaining how much he agreed with that sentiment. “It’s as likely you are saving him.”

“Maybe. I wish I could believe it.”

“I would never lie to you.”

“No. I know you wouldn’t.”

They rode the lift down, and he took her back through security. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked.

“Without fail. You have my number. Call if you need.”

She smiled, still wobbling, then leant over and kissed his cheek. “You’re a darling, Athos. See you.”

As he watched her walk away, he carefully did not indicate by expression or gesture the earthquake taking place in his heart. He knew then that he could put a name to the emotion she roused in him.

And a description of that emotion. _Forbidden._

************************

Marie exclaimed when Constance returned to the café. “You look terrible. Are you unwell?”

“Just a reaction to new medication. I’ll be fine.”

“You take it easy. I can cover mid-afternoon.”

Constance was pathetically grateful for Marie’s offer. “Buzz me in the apartment if you need me?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll come down at four.”

“Only if you’re up to it.”

Constance managed to smile, then escaped upstairs. Her stomach really was upset, but it wasn’t from medication. God, what had she agreed to? And what was Jacques mixed up in? Why had she opened that parcel? Everything would still be okay.

But no. If Jacques was shifting drugs through the café, it was bound to come back on them sooner or later. But the very idea of Jacques doing anything illegal boggled her mind. He had always been comically addicted to following the letter of the law. What had changed? Surely they weren’t that close to running out of money.

She wanted to talk to Athos again. His quiet calmness had stopped her making a fool of herself in front of that police captain, and the sympathy in his eyes had given her hope that somehow she would get through this.

And she liked his company. She liked him. She wondered if he knew how much she’d come to value his existence, whether she should tell him to boost his shattered confidence.

But a married woman had to be cautious, and he was so proper and honourable....

And kind. So very kind.

Thinking about Athos calmed her a little, almost as if he was there in the flesh. She thought about texting Sylvie until she remembered that she couldn’t tell anyone about this.

In that case, she needed to pull her socks up and be brave. Eat some carbs, have a glass of wine, take a deep breath, and go downstairs again, and not rely on her poor assistant to carry the load.

All the same, when Athos came around the next day, she could reassure herself the parcel looked just the same. It would be comforting. That was the only reason she was looking forward to seeing him.

Of course it was.


	5. Chapter 5

Jacques arrived home on Sunday afternoon, and disappeared into the cellar immediately after saying hello. Constance held her breath, praying that he wouldn’t notice any change in the package. To Constance’s eyes, it had looked perfectly untouched, even though Athos said the wrapping had been completely replaced. But Jacques was more familiar with it. What would he say?

Fortunately, nothing. He didn’t return demanding to know who’d been touching his samples, and there was no way he would keep quiet if he had thought someone had. Constance’s smile of welcome hid pure relief. But her role in this wasn’t over. She still needed to get the phone away from him for a few minutes while he slept.

They ate supper in the apartment. She told him about Sylvie’s wedding the following week. He sniffed and said she could do better, but then so could Aramis. Constance wanted to defend her friends, but she needed him peaceful and ready to sleep, so she bit her tongue. They shared a bottle of wine, and she let him have the greater portion, only drinking a glass herself. When she suggested a glass of Armagnac after the meal, he didn’t say no. She barely touched hers, but he drank his enthusiastically. “Coming to bed soon?” he asked as he set the glass down.

“I just have some emails to send. Perhaps we could have a lie in tomorrow?”

“What a good idea. Not a habit we should get into though.”

“Chance would be a fine thing, don’t you think?”

He clasped her around the waist. “I’ll have some good news soon, I think. And then I can stop all this travelling. We could even try for a baby.”

“Do you believe that? Do you even want to?”

“Of course I do. I married you when you were pregnant before. I wanted the child as much as you did, Constance.”

She rested her head on his chest. “I know. Just think, he would be nearly six now.”

“Don’t upset yourself thinking about it,” he said kindly, kissing her hair. “Don’t sit up too late.”

His softness towards her only made her feel guilty about what she was doing. She reminded herself that this was for him too, if he was innocent. And he had to be. Jacques just would _not_ deal drugs.

She texted Athos to say Jacques had gone to bed and to give her an hour.

Athos: _We’re moving into position now. Come down when you have the phone. Take as long as you need_

Waiting was torture. She gave it half an hour, then snuck over to the bedroom doorway. Jacques was snoring softly. Another fifteen minutes and she could be sure he wouldn’t wake.

When that time had passed, she crept to his bedside and picked up the phone, then silently slipped out. She pulled on a coat and stepped quietly down the stairs. “Athos?” she whispered.

“Here.” He was on her left, Porthos beside him.

“Take it.” She thrust the phone at him, and gave him the code to unlock it—same as her own phone, though she didn’t tell him that.

“We’ll be quick. Stay with Porthos.”

Athos slipped away. Porthos moved over to Constance. “You’re a brave girl,” he said.

“Bloody not,” she muttered.

He put his arms around her and hugged her. His warmth and bulk felt so good, but she couldn’t stop shivering. “Maybe you should go back inside,” he said in a low rumble.

“No, I’ll wait. I’m not cold, I’m scared.”

“It’ll be all right. Chances are he doesn’t know a thing about it. He’s probably doing someone a favour, and has no idea.”

“I hope you’re right.” She burrowed shamelessly into his strong arms, and tried not to think about how nice another pair of arms around her had felt.

Athos returned in a surprisingly short time. “That’s it?” she asked as she took the phone back from him.

“Yes. He won’t know it’s there, or who put it on his phone. The car’s tracer is also in position. You’ve done well. Thank you.”

The serious look in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice, meant more to her than the most fulsome praise from anyone else. “Just catch the bastards and clear Jacques. That’s all I ask.”

“We’ll do our best.”

Porthos released her. “You better get back inside.”

“Yeah. So...I’ll see you? Both of you? Soon?”

“Sure you will,” Porthos said. “Off you go.”

She smiled at him. Athos nodded, his head tilted a little. “Be careful,” he added.

“I will.”

She ran up the stairs and put the phone by the bed as quickly as she could. _There_. It was all over and done now.

************************

“She’s a lovely girl,” Porthos said as he and Athos walked back to Athos’s place. Porthos was staying the night since they were back on days in the morning and Athos lived closer to the train station. “What’s she gonna do if the husband is dirty?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know how she ended up with that jerk. She could have her pick of guys.”

“I don’t know that either.”

Porthos glanced at his partner. “You two seem to have become good mates.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, he says. When he should be thanking me for dragging him out to that café in the first place all those months ago.”

Athos turned to him. “Thank you,” he said solemnly, his scarred lip quirking a little.

“You’re welcome. What are you giving Sylvie and Aramis? Did you want to go halves?”

“A cheque.

“Money?”

“They want children. They cost.”

“Yeah, I suppose they do. I might do the same. So, what, two hundred euros?”

“Whatever you want to give is fine..”

“Then I’ll do that. Give them something physical when the baby comes, yeah?”

Athos nodded. They’d reached his building, and Athos let them inside, Porthos grateful to be out of the cold. “This better be worth it,” he said, shaking off the light dusting of snow from his coat and hanging it up.

“We already have enough to achieve Bonacieux,” Athos said.

“Arrest.” Athos was more tired than he looked, Porthos realised.

“Yes. I’m going to bed. Goodnight. Shower is yours.”

Porthos clapped him on the shoulder. “G’night.”

He’d would give Athos ten minutes to be sure he didn’t need the bathroom. That gave Porthos time to text d’Artagnan. _All done here. You up?_

His phone rang. “Up in what sense?”

Porthos grinned. “Dirty beggar. How was your shift?”

“Tiring. Still at work, just finishing up. You?”

“Did what we had to. I’m at Athos’s. He suggested money as a gift for Aramis and Sylvie. What do you think?”

“Sure, why not? For the babies to come, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what he thought. I’m gonna wear a suit. Aramis said not to bother, but how often does your best friend get married?”

“Only once, I hope. Do you own or are you renting?”

“Own, of course. What kind of peasant do you think I am?”

“The kind of peasant who never wears a suit because he has a uniform for funerals and that’s all he needs one for.”

“Which is you.”

“Yeah. I can rent though.”

“Not a tux. It’s morning.”

“You’re no fun.”

Porthos laughed at the pout in his lover’s voice. “You can wear one to ours. Oops?”

“Did you just propose, you big lug?”

“Maybe? Or maybe it was a hypothetical.”

“If you were here I’d give you a hypo.”

“Ooh, does that mean we can play doctors?”

“You wouldn’t believe the fun you can have with latex gloves, darling.”

“I’d ask you to tell me more, but I am not having phone sex with you in Athos’s house.”

“Why not? He might enjoy it.”

“He’s straight, d’Artagnan.”

“Yeah, straight as I am.”

“Come on, I’ve known him ten years.”

“Yeah? I’d known him ten minutes and I knew he was either gay or bi.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bet you ten euros. Ask him.”

“No. What business is it of mine?”

“None. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of either. I mean, he knows me, you and Aramis. And Sylvie, too.”

Porthos considered. How well did he know Athos’s tastes in partners? It wasn’t like the two of them ever double-dated. “Eh, who cares? When will I see you before then?”

D’Artagnan groaned. “I dunno, love. You’re on days and we’re on evenings. Even if you slept here, we would barely speak. Wednesday afternoon? After we go to lunch with them?”

“It’s a date. I better let you go.”

“Okay. Love you, big guy.”

“You too.”

And Porthos did love him. It was still a miracle to him that d’Artagnan even existed, let alone loved him back. He’d been joking about the proposal, but now he couldn’t think of a single solid reason not to be serious about it. Maybe he’d ask for real after Aramis and Sylvie were hitched. They did have that afternoon together, after all.

************************

Porthos and Athos were already outside the _mairie_ when Constance arrived in a taxi. Porthos kindly held the door for her and she stepped out. “No Monsieur Bonacieux?” he asked.

“He’s minding the shop,” she lied, not wanting to share Jacques’s opinions with them, then smiled at Athos as he nodded at her. The two men were in rather nice suits. “You boys look very smart. Where’s d’Artagnan?”

“Parking,” Porthos said, closing the taxi’s door. “So none of us paid any attention to Aramis telling us to dress down, I see.”

Constance brushed down her skirt, not meeting Porthos’s eyes. She would never admit this was her own wedding dress, altered to fit her now not-pregnant shape, and unworn for six years. “This is just an old dress I never have a chance to wear.”

“It’s lovely,” Athos said quietly, stepping up to take her arm. “Shall we go in?”

Grateful and surprised, she let him lead her inside, while Porthos stayed behind to wait for his boyfriend. “How are things with Jacques?” Athos asked as they sat down in the waiting area.

“All right. He doesn’t suspect anything. He says that the deal he’s been trying to make will be finalised soon. He’s excited about it.”

“Did he mention any names?”

“No. What about your tracker?”

Athos tilted his head. “I can’t discuss that. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, I forgot. I’m sorry.” He patted her arm in forgiveness. She looked around to hide her embarrassment “I thought they’d be here by now.”

Athos lifted his head. “They are.”

Constance turned. Sylvie and Aramis were walking through the front door, Porthos and d’Artagnan behind them. Sylvie had tiny white roses woven into her hair, piled high on her head, and wore a simple green dress in shantung silk. Aramis was dressed in a natty white suit with a rosebud boutonnière. Constance went to meet them, clasping Sylvie’s hands and kissing her cheek. “You look beautiful, darling.”

“So do you.” Aramis bent and kissed Constance’s cheek. “Thank you for coming. I know it’s difficult.”

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Me neither,” Porthos said. D’Artagnan was just as nicely dressed as his boyfriend, and Athos. Constance was glad she’d made an effort.

Aramis and Sylvie’s ceremony was the last on the list, and they had arrived with only five minutes to spare. The marriage itself was the usual spare, legal event but the love in Sylvie’s eyes as she gazed at her beloved, and the adoration in Aramis’s when he looked at her, made it special for them and their friends. They exchanged rings, but would make their vows at the family wedding in June.

After the register was signed and witnessed D’Artagnan produced a small camera from his pocket and everyone took turns as photographer. Porthos begged a passing visitor to take one of them all, so they had at least one record of all the friends together. “I’ll have prints made for everyone,” d’Artagnan said. “If you want extra copies, let me know.”

“Allow me to pay,” Athos said. “Please.”

“If you insist.”

Aramis, who had been too busy kissing his new wife to pay much attention to anything since the ceremony finished, straightened up at that point. “Speaking of paying, lunch is on Monsieur and Madame d’Herblay-Boden.”

“You’re sharing names?” Constance asked. Jacques wouldn’t hear of it for them.

“Of course,” Sylvie said. “Is it too clumsy?”

“Not at all. It’s lovely.” Constance kissed her friend’s cheek. “It’s perfect.”

Sylvie hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d walked into the _mairie_. Constance couldn’t remember if she’d ever felt that happy when she was marrying Jacques. Relief that she wasn’t to be left to face raising a child on her own had dominated her emotions at the time. Of course afterwards, that hadn’t been an issue, sadly.

Lunch at a nearby restaurant was a riot. Everyone had slightly too much champagne, except for Athos who toasted them all with sparkling mineral water. Aramis delivered a slyly dirty, funny speech lauding Sylvie’s charms, and Sylvie responded with a tart but loving list of the reasons she’d married him despite his faults, which she also listed. Porthos and Athos suggested she’d missed a few, and she pretended to write them down, while Aramis covered his face in embarrassment.

Then Porthos rose to speak on behalf of the couple’s assembled friends. “My first impression of Aramis when I met him ten years ago was that he was an annoyingly handsome flirt who could charm the birds from the trees. As you all know, I was right about that.” Sylvie grinned at him. “What I came to know about him later was that he was also kind, generous, romantic, brave, and a total bed hog.”

Athos nodded. “He really is.”

“Until now, none of the people he dated could offer him enough to satisfy him on their own. It takes a lot of people to keep Aramis happy, because he hides a bit of himself from everyone. Different parts for different people. When he introduced me to Sylvie, I thought, there’s a woman who might just be able to give Aramis everything he needs in a partner. Turns out I was right. At work, he has d’Artagnan to cover his back. At home, Sylvie covers his heart. So, here’s to Sylvie and Aramis, who deserve each other as much as they love each other.”

Constance lifted her glass, but had to have a quiet sniffle at the same time. She’d have never suspected Porthos could speak so simply, yet with so much feeling, about his friend. She couldn’t imagine any of Jacques’s friend speaking about him that way. But Aramis and Jacques were as different as two people could be while sharing a gender.

She caught Athos looking at her, and gave him a smile. His answering expression made her think she hadn’t fooled him at all.

The meal went on until two, then Constance regretfully announced she needed to get back. They shared a taxi back to the café, since Aramis and Sylvie went home, and Porthos and d’Artagnan were headed to d’Artagnan’s apartment. “I’m glad they went ahead with the wedding,” Constance said.

“So am I.”

“She was so happy. She deserves it.”

“Yes. They both do.”

“You don’t...still blame yourself, do you?”

He turned to her. “Of course.”

“Athos, you shouldn’t.”

He shrugged and looked out the window. “Your husband’s new business partner visited that grocery shop two weeks before the trial. Strange.”

She stared. “Coincidence?” Her voice sounded faint to her ears.

“Perhaps. And here we are.”

He courteously stepped out to hold the door for her. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

“See you this week for supper?”

He bowed. “Of course.”

“Good.”

He waited until she was at the café’s door, then got back into the taxi to be driven back to his apartment. She lingered a moment to watch before going inside. Clementine was alone except for a man in the corner reading a newspaper and drinking a glass of wine. “You look beautiful in that dress,” Clem said.

“Thanks. Where’s Jacques?”

“In the cellar. I’m right for another hour.”

“I’ll just change and be back down in a bit.”

She decided to first go down to the cellar to tell Jacques she was back. She found her husband rearranging stores to accommodate a large box. “What’s that?”

“Oh you’re back. Just more samples.”

Maybe it was the champagne talking, or maybe his sarcastic words about Sylvie and Aramis that morning still irritated her, but she was suddenly and finally out of patience with this incessant secrecy. “What samples? What are the goods?”

He didn’t even turn to look at her. “None of your concern. Just get on with your work.”

“No, Jacques. This is my business, my building. If you’re going to store goods here, I insist on knowing what they are, or at least who they’re for.”

He turned. The venom in his expression, the way it twisted his face and narrowed his eyes, horrified her. “I told you, it’s none of your business.”

“Wrong. It’s exactly my business. Tell me or remove them. Or...or, I’ll call the police and report contraband.”

He stepped towards her. “You little bitch! How dare you imply I’m involved in that kind of thing?”

She tried not to quail under his anger, but it was almost impossible not to cringe. “Well, prove that you’re not. Open one of them. Or are you too scared of your ‘partner’ to ask questions?”

He backhanded her, and Constance, who’d never been struck in her life, fell back in shock and terror at the pain and the way he seemed ready to hit her again. “Shut your mouth.”

“Get out. Get out now,” she mumbled, holding one hand in front of her to ward him off, the other over her cheek and mouth.

“Touch that box and you’ll pay for it.” He drew himself up and stalked over to the steps. Constance slid to the floor, weeping.

************************

Athos’s phone rang. Constance’s number. “Hello, Constance.”

“It’s not Constance, _monsieur_. It’s Clementine, her manager.”

His skin prickled. “Is something wrong?”

“Can you come over? There’s been an...an accident with Monsieur Bonacieux. Constance...she needs help.”

“Have you called the paramedics?” He was already putting his coat on and walking out the door.

“Not that kind of help. Please?”

“On my way.”

He briefly considered calling the local police, but Constance’s staff were pretty level-headed women. If Clementine had called him and not the emergency number, it was another kind of problem.

The ‘Closed’ sign was up, but the young waitress came straight over at his knock and let him in. “They’re downstairs, _monsieur_.”

More puzzled than ever, Athos went down to the cellar. Constance was sitting on the floor, a cold bag against her face, while a grim-faced Clementine crouched beside her, hand on Constance’s shoulder. She looked up. “Thank God. Monsieur, her husband did this. He beat her.”

Athos knelt beside Constance. “Show me,” he said as gently as he could. He eased the cold bag and her hand away, revealing a split and swollen lip and bruises starting on her jaw. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” Clem snapped.

“Don’t,” Constance mumbled, not looking at either of them.

“Let me handle it,” Athos said. “I’ll take good care of her.”

Clem snorted. “I hope so. Bloody men. I’ll castrate him if I see him again.”

Athos didn’t blame her. “I’ll deal with it, I promise.”

Lips thinned in an angry line, Clem nodded, then headed up the stairs. Athos cast around for a chair, and saw a folding one standing in a corner. He fetched it, and helped Constance up into it. He checked her eyes. “Did you hit your head? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No,” she whispered, then began to weep again.

He kept stroking her hair and whispered comforting words until she calmed a little, but kept up the reassurance until she could look at him. “What happened?”

“I...I asked him about that box.” Athos turned and saw an anonymous cardboard package sitting on others at the side. “I told him to tell me what was in it or I’d report him for contraband. He went insane.”

“You shouldn’t have taken such a risk.”

“I’m just so sick of the secrecy and the lies. I didn’t think he’d react...I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

“It is _not._ ” Athos put an arm around her shoulder. “I only meant it was risky for you to ask. Not that it was wrong or justified what he did.”

“He must be guilty, Athos. Why would he...he’s never hit me before.”

 _Not with his fist_ , Athos thought. But his words were nearly as hurtful. “Where is he?”

“Gone. God, Athos, what have I done?”

“Nothing. It’s not you, it’s him. I’ll put a call out for him to be arrested for domestic violence.”

She clutched at his shirt. “But then you’ll have to tell people why we were fighting and he’ll know that I know.”

“He hit you. That’s enough. This is our excuse to pick him up, Constance.”

“He knows, doesn’t he? What he’s transporting?”

“It’s very likely.”

“Will he go to prison?”

“I don’t know. A lot depends on how much help he gives us. Forget about that. What will you do? Have you somewhere to stay?”

“Only here. I can’t close the café. People depend on me for their jobs.”

“Then the locks must be changed. I’ll arrange it.”

For some reason that started her weeping again. He let her cry it out, before pulling his phone from his pocket and calling the Antony police to report a DV incident. He gave them the details, and the registration number of Bonacieux’s car. “I’m at the scene with the victim, yes. Thank you.”

“They’ll be over shortly. Let me take you upstairs.”

She clung to him as they climbed up, and Clem rushed over the moment she spotted them. “Are you all right, Constance?”

Constance nodded. “The café will need to remain closed the rest of the day,” Athos said. “The police will be here shortly to take a statement. I’ll take her to the apartment. No one is to enter the cellar.”

“I’ll make sure of that, _monsieur_. You just make sure she’s safe. What if he comes back?”

“Call the police immediately,” he said. “And the locks will be changed.”

“Good. I won’t let him in,” she added, banging a large carving knife with her hand.

“Please don’t use that,” Athos said. “I’ll be upstairs. Call me down.”

She looked at him as if to say, “You? You’re tiny,” but then nodded. Athos led Constance out the back and up the stairs to her apartment, deadlocking the door behind them.

“I want to change,” Constance said. “I’m a mess. I don’t want to wreck this outfit too.”

Athos nodded, and set to finding the makings for tea while she went to the bathroom. The apartment’s furniture was on the ugly side, and looked like an inheritance, but someone—presumably Constance—had done their best with ornaments and flowers and paintings to make it brighter and lighter.

She was gone ten minutes, and emerged in jeans and sweater, bare of makeup which only made the injuries more obvious. He made her sit and served her sweet tea with biscuits, then replaced the ice bag. “Do you need to go to the hospital? Any sharp pain or chipped teeth?”

“Just the cut and the bruising.” She set the cup down as tears fell once more. “I feel almost ashamed. Like I forced him to this.”

Athos took her hand. “Absolutely not. He’s the criminal. You are a victim. No one ‘made’ him do this.”

“What about that box?”

“We’ll pick it up. I need to call Treville in a bit.”

“It’s your day off,” she sobbed.

He crouched beside her and put his arm around her again. “There will be others. Drink your tea. It’ll help.”

The buzzer from the ground floor sounded. Athos checked to be sure it was the police and not Bonacieux or one of his confederates before releasing the door, and still insisted on ID before he let them inside the apartment. He remained at Constance’s side as the officers—both women, thankfully—asked what had happened. Then he advised them that Bonacieux was part of a much wider investigation, that he should be held in custody when found on the DV matter, and there was likely to be material evidence in the basement which must not be touched until a proper forensic team had been to examine it and take it into safe keeping.

While the officers were there to watch over Constance, Athos called his boss and explained the situation. “She can’t stay there,” Treville said. “Not once his friends find out what’s happening. Is there somewhere safe in Antony she can go to?”

“She can stay with me, but she’s worried about her business.”

“She’ll need to stay closed for a couple of days at least.”

That wouldn’t go over well, Athos thought, but Treville was right. “I’ll arrange for the locks to be changed.”

“Don’t bother. The place needs to be kept under guard for now. I’ll speak to the local commissariat. Wait there until they have it secured, then take her with you. She needs to stay out of sight, Athos.”

“Yes, sir.”

He explained what his boss had said to Constance, who nodded, apparently resigned to her life being turned over as a result of her husband’s behaviour. He spoke to the officers, now waiting for instructions. “I’ll stay with her until we’re ready to leave. The manager is downstairs. Please ask her to go home and then stay until Forensics get here.”

“Tell her I’m safe,” Constance said. “She won’t leave otherwise.”

The women agreed and Athos let them out of the apartment again, relocking the door behind them. “If only I’d kept my mouth shut,” Constance said. “I had too much to drink.”

“I think this would have happened at some point,” Athos said. “More tea?”

She shook her head. “I should pack. Oh!” She put her hand over her mouth, then winced as she banged her lip. “I remembered something. You said his business partner visited the shopkeeper?”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember when you refused the bottle of wine over Xmas?” Athos nodded, totally confused now. “I might have, um...told him you had a drinking problem. Sylvie told me. I’m sorry.” She stared at her lap.

Athos opened his mouth, then closed it. He wasn’t angry at her revealing his secret, since it wasn’t that much of a secret. But suddenly connections clicked together, and he urgently needed to call Treville. “Hang on, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He dashed into the apartment’s bathroom and shut the door. He called the commissariat immediately. “Boss, Jacques Bonacieux knows I’m an alcoholic.”

“You’re not an...wait, when did he find out?”

“Xmas.”

“Fuck. But why would he pass that on to Grimaud? Or is he working with Philippe Fèron?”

“I don’t know. But it can’t be a collision.”

“No, it’s not a coincidence. Okay, I’ll push it upwards. How’s Constance?”

“Upset. Coping, for now.”

“Right. All right, you’d better go back to her.”

“Yes, sir.”

He went back into the living room, but Constance was nowhere to be seen. He called her name, and thought he heard a sound from the bedroom. The door was shut so he knocked. When there was no answer, he opened the door and found her sitting on the bed, silently weeping. He sat by her. “What happened?”

“M’sorry. I let you down.”

He could barely make out what she said, but he understood what she was trying to say. He took her hand. “No, you didn’t. I just had to call my boss.”

“I shouldn’t have told Jacques. He was just angry because you’d insulted him, he thought.”

“It’s fine, Constance. I’m glad you told me. It could be important.”

She turned sad, brown eyes on him. “How?”

“Can’t tell you. I’m not angry.”

“Promise?”

He squeezed her fingers gently. “Promise.”

She stared a little longer, then gave him a tremulous smile. “Good.”

“Are you packed?”

“Not yet.”

“We can go soon. I’ll check downstairs.” He patted her shoulder. “I won’t be long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French marriage law allows no non-secular component. Therefore all marriages are conducted in a civil ceremony, with a non-binding religious ceremony or family wedding carried out only after the civil, legal marriage.


	6. Chapter 6

Porthos’s jubilant mood took a nosedive when he saw his partner’s expression at the train station. “What the hell happened to you?”

Athos shook his head. “Not here.”

“Someone’s dead?”

“No. Really, not here.”

Porthos sighed. And he’d been ready to share his good news with the world. Now he didn’t know if that was appropriate. Had his bloody wife been in contact again?

“Good day off?” Athos asked as they waited for the train.

“Yeah. I might’ve asked d’Artagnan to marry me. Or at least live with me.”

To his surprise, Athos smiled. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” So, whatever it was, wasn’t about the bitch at least.

As soon as they got to the commissariat, Athos took Porthos to an empty interview room, and revealed what he’d been unable to talk about. “Bonacieux’s in custody right now, being interviewed by Organised Crime. He knows he’ll go to prison if he doesn’t cooperate.”

Porthos let out a low whistle. “Wow. And Constance?”

“At my apartment for now. She’ll probably return to her own place tomorrow.”

“She and Bonacieux are splitting up, I hope.”

“I think so. I hope so.”

“Bastard. Needs a smack to teach him what it’s like.”

“Not from you. She’s heartbroken.”

“Poor kid. Do Aramis and Sylvie know?”

“No, she didn’t want to spoil their day. But I’ll let Sylvie know later.”

“I’ll call Aramis if you like. They think he can help take down Grimaud?”

“And a few others. If he’s lucky, he’ll escape prosecution.”

“But that lot will be after him for the rest of his life.”

“Only if they find out.” Athos lowered his already quiet voice. “We don’t know who might be working for them, so don’t talk about it, even with Aramis.”

“Got it. Wow, you had a bigger day than I did.”

Athos smiled slightly. “Yours was more pleasant. D’Artagnan is a very good man. You’ll be happy with him.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

If only they could find a good woman—or a man—for Athos, then that would be the four of them all settled and happy. But Porthos didn’t see Athos dating again in this decade at least. Shame.

************************

Even though she was expecting Athos, Constance jumped a little when she heard the key in the lock, then settled back with relief when Athos and no one else came in the door. “Welcome home,” she said.

“Thank you. How are you?”

“Better. When can I go back to the café?”

Athos hung up his coat and walked over to the sofa. She noticed he had a slight limp, which she thought probably meant he was tired. He sat and looked at her. “Jacques has agreed to help the investigation, so he’ll be released on that condition. He can still be charged with assaulting you, but that will happen after he does what he’s promised.”

“I...I’m not sure I want that now.” The thought of the whole business of pursuing the charges made her shivery and sick.

“You don’t have to decide now. You can return to the café tomorrow, if you wish.”

His green eyes held something else though. “But?” she asked.

“He wants to see you. He wants to ask you to forgive him.”

“You don’t think I should.”

“Speaking as a cop...no. It’s your decision.”

Constance bit her lip, then yelped as she caught the cut. As if she needed reminding.... “I need to think about it.”

“Of course.”

“It’s just...yes, he hit me, and he’s been horrible a lot of the time lately. But....”

“You don’t need to justify yourself.”

“I’m not,” she said. “Maybe I am. I want _you_ to understand, at least. I take marriage seriously. I bet you do too.” He nodded, though his expression clouded. “I met him at University when I was studying journalism along with Sylvie. His family were catering a function I went to, and he asked me out. I’d had other boyfriends, of course, but Jacques was a grownup. He’d travelled, and he knew so much about the world, about business. And we had a lot of fun. I know some people might not believe that, but back then he was great to be with. Witty, sarcastic, but funny. And we both love food and cooking.” She flushed. “That sounds trivial.”

“No. I understand.”

She touched his hand, and he smiled encouragingly. It gave her courage to continue. “In my final year, I got pregnant. I’ve always wanted children, but not this soon. Jacques was incredibly excited and said we could marry, have the baby, and I could return to complete my degree. He was so lovely then. So protective.” She stopped. The difference between that man and the man who’d hit her...she still had trouble believing it. “I was four months’ pregnant when we married. Two months later, the baby died inside me. A little boy.”

Athos reached for her hand and held it right. “It shattered me. Both of us. It drove us closer together but something still died. The romance died. We grieved for our son, for each other. I couldn’t face going back to Uni, and he offered me an alternative, working in the family firm, learning about hospitality. That’s where it went wrong, I think. Jacques’s father hated me, and he was an abusive arsehole to both of us. Jacques worked so hard to please him, and I wanted Jacques to be happy, and to prove his father wrong. But gradually business became everything, and we stopped being in love.”

“That doesn’t excuse what he did.”

“No, I know. Just...I feel like I owe him a chance. I won’t forget what he did but shouldn’t I at least try to forgive, if he’s truly sorry?”

She stared into his eyes, trying to read his emotions. She saw kindness, concern, but no answer. “What do you think I should do?”

“Whatever you want. Whatever is best for you.”

“I don’t know what’s best.”

“Then he can wait. Don’t dance to his song.”

She let him hold her hand a little longer, because it was shocking how much she enjoyed him touching her. But finally she pulled free. “I made supper, and some pastries to take to work.”

His expression brightened. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. You’ve been so kind.”

He ducked his head. “I should clean up. Excuse me.”

She let him stand, and watched him disappear into the bathroom. He was the exact opposite of Jacques in every possible way. That had to be why she was drawn to him right now, but a romantic interest in someone else was the last thing _she_ needed.

She would speak to Jacques, and see if there was anything left to salvage from their marriage. That was what she should concentrate on.

************************

Very much against his better judgement, Athos agreed to escort Jacques Bonacieux to a supervised meeting with Constance in their apartment. All his instincts and experience told him Constance was making a mistake and that abusers didn’t change that quickly, but she was far from stupid and knew all that. For the first time since he’d met this lovely woman, Athos wished she was rather less kind than she was.

Bonacieux was sullen when Athos met him outside the hotel in Antony where he was staying. “Don’t you want me in handcuffs too, lieutenant?”

“What a good idea,” Athos said, shoving him into the police car. “Be quiet.”

Five minutes later he pulled up near the café. Before he unlocked the doors, he turned to his passenger. “You will be polite. You will listen. If you ever lay a hand on her again, they will never find your body.”

“Threats, lieutenant?”

“A solemn vow.” He unlocked the doors. “Out.”

Athos didn’t like Constance’s paleness, or the way she barely concealed an instinctive cringe when she saw her husband. But Bonacieux noticed these too. “Constance, I’m so sorry.”

“You’d better come in.”

The bruising on Constance’s mouth and jaw made Athos want to hold her, and kill Bonacieux. Instead he accepted the tea she offered him, and retreated to a corner of the small living room, not taking his eyes off the man. If he even looked like moving wrong....

He did his best not to listen, or judge, but he could hardly not hear, and assess what he did. Bonacieux did seem contrite and distressed at what he’d done. Constance was appropriately wary while giving him a chance to speak. Her husband also let her speak about how he’d made her feel, not just over the beating but his vicious words.

“You were distributing drugs, Jacques. You hit me for that.”

“I didn’t know, Constance, I swear. I thought they were custom electronics for weapons. Not illegal, just...extremely valuable. I had no idea. Even the police believe me.”

For the first time, she glanced at Athos for reassurance. Athos gave a minute shrug. The organised crime subdirectorate had accepted Bonacieux’s story for now because it made little difference to what they wanted him to do, but that wasn’t the same thing as believing him without reservation.

“And have you stopped? I mean, apart from what the police want you to do?”

“Completely. I’ve been such a fool.”

“You should have talked to me about it.”

“Yes. But I was trained to take charge, to not lean on anyone. My father wouldn’t allow it.”

She nodded, and in that moment, Athos knew Bonacieux would be allowed to return. Athos didn’t buy it though. There was self-reliance, and then there was stupid pride and wilful blindness. Bonacieux may have thought he was a consummate businessman, but Athos thought him a bloody fool.

At last, Constance rose. “I’ll let you stay, Jacques, on the condition that we talk, you never hit me again, and you never speak to me like that again. This is my house, my business. You set it up that way, and I’m going to use it. One wrong move, and Athos and Porthos and his friends will take you away and you will never see me again.”

Bonacieux paled and stood. “I swear I’ll do better. I lost my way, worried about money too much. But you are everything to me.”

“I want you to sleep on the sofa for a couple of days though. I’m not ready....”

“Of course, my love. Anything you want.”

Athos rolled his eyes. Constance caught him at it and gave him a look. “I think we’re done, Athos. Thank you for doing this.”

He pulled himself off the wall and walked over to her. “You’re welcome. I’m close by, always remember.”

She smiled. “I will. Come to the café for supper tomorrow?”

“If I can.” He touched her arm. “Good luck.” He gave Bonacieux a hard look. “One chance, _monsieur_.”

Bonacieux’s eyes were black chips of ice. “Yes, I understand.”

Normally Athos was the last person to vent his emotions over another person, but he desperately needed to talk to someone about this. Porthos was headed to d’Artagnan’s apartment, of course. The two of them had trouble wrangling shifts that aligned and had to grab every chance to see each other. The only other people who would understand were Aramis and Sylvie. So he called Sylvie.

“Athos, love, we were just talking about you. Come over for dinner?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Aramis opened the door to him and dragged him into a hug. “Thank you for being there for Constance.”

“Not enough, unfortunately.”

Aramis released him and looked into his face. “Shit. Bonacieux?”

“Yes.”

He couldn’t tell them everything involving Constance’s husband, of course, or what they had learned from him that pertained to Sylvie’s concerns, but what they already knew was enough for them to understand Athos’s anger and worry over Bonacieux’s return. “She’s mad,” Aramis said. “Men like that don’t change.”

“Agreed,” Athos said. “But she knows that.”

“They were truly in love once,” Sylvie said. “I never liked him, though he was lovely towards her back then. But he changed.”

“Reverted to type,” Aramis said, frowning. “In a month, she’ll be back where she started.”

Athos grimaced at the thought. “For her sake, I hope not.”

“You really care about her, don’t you?” Sylvie said, patting Athos’s hand. “You’d be a much better husband for her.”

He flushed and pulled his hand away. “I don’t think so.”

“Sylvie, darling, maybe it’s a little inappropriate to suggest that now,” Aramis said kindly.

“I know...just comparing my lovely Athos with that creep.”

Athos gave her a look. “Sylvie.”

“Well you are. I agree with you, by the way. Jacques will crash and burn, and all we can do is try and stop Constance getting hurt. Be there for her.”

Athos had hoped Sylvie would do more than that—maybe go over to see her friend, talk her out of this—but at the same time he’d worked with the enough DV victims to know it wasn’t that simple. He wouldn’t give it a month though. More like a week.

And when it happened, he would be there as a friend, nothing more. He wasn’t fit to be with anyone.

************************

“Porthos! I haven’t seen you in weeks.” Constance accepted the kiss on both cheeks from the big man, and then from d’Artagnan. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry, hon. Been busy sorting out moving in with this bloke.”

D’Artagnan grinned widely. “And by moving _in_ , he means both of us moving out into a bigger apartment. We just finished shifting the last of the furniture so we decided to come here and celebrate.”

“That was your first choice, of course,” Constance said.

“Didn’t say we came straight here, did we?” Porthos said, giving her a filthy leer. She pretended to be shocked but she found it hilarious. “Did Athos mentioned we’re engaged?”

“He did, yes. I’m offended I’m not hosting your party.”

“Give us a chance,” d’Artagnan murmured. “It’s on the list.”

“Better be,” she said. “So what would you like this evening?”

Jacques came to her shoulder. “Just to let you know we just sold the last fish order.”

“Thanks,” she said, and he moved away. “So what would you like?”

They both ordered the soup and chicken of the day, and beers for each of them. As she finished writing it down, Porthos beckoned her to move closer. “How’s it going with him?” D’Artagnan listened with an intent expression.

“Okay, actually. Working things out. Taking it slow.”

“You let me or Athos know if it’s not working, right?”

“I will. Thank you, dear.” She straightened up. “Won’t be long.”

She took the order over to Jacques who was acting as their barman. “Two Stellas, and two glasses of champagne on the house.”

He looked up and she held her breath, waiting for him to argue. “What’s the occasion?”

“They’ve just become engaged. And they’ll probably hold their party here.”

“Excellent.”

She gave him a smile and moved to put the order on Serge’s holder, exhaling with relief. Things were going okay, she hadn’t lied about that, but she kept waiting for Jacques to forget his manners, come out with something nasty, or to criticise how she was running things. He hadn’t in three weeks, though four days of that he’d been travelling, playing his role according to the police’s request. He was still on the sofa, still on his best behaviour, and it was slowly driving her crazy. Because it wasn’t real, and the more he tried to be the man she remembered, the more she realised she just didn’t love him any more. And worse than that, she might just be falling in love with a quiet, shy man with sad green eyes who treated her with exquisite kindness and whose twice weekly visits kept her sane.

All the same, she was grateful for the extra help in the café, since business had picked up again. Jacques was a lot less stressed when he wasn’t travelling, and he knew the hospitality business like the back of his hand. That made it easier for him not to snap and attack, but that he could have done that to her at all, was never far from her mind. The bruises had faded but not the memory, and his being around all the time guaranteed she wouldn’t forget. Athos had been right to caution against this. She wished he’d been more forceful in trying to stop her, but that wasn’t his style. She’d insisted she could look after herself. What a joke.

It wasn’t working, and sooner or later, she’d have to tell him to move out. But he was trying so hard, and he did love her in his own, broken way, and without her, he had no friends who weren’t relatives. His father was dead, thank God, but his mother was nearly as harsh on her son as he’d been. She needed to let him down gently, without destroying him.

“Constance? Are you all right?”

She shook herself and turned to Jacques. “Yes?”

“You’ve been staring into space for five minutes.”

“Oh. Sorry. Just thinking.” She took the tray Jacques was holding, and went over to the customers who’d ordered those drinks.

She had little chance to chat with the customers she knew, not even Porthos and d’Artagnan. If they kept being this busy, she might even hire another chef. Serge kept muttering about retiring, but she’d always managed to convince him to stay to now. If he finally did leave, she’d be stuck well and truly.

The doorbell tinkled cheerily and she looked up to smile and greet the newcomers. The man walking in was wearing a motorcycle helmet and wore a heavy coat, even though the end of March weather was surprisingly mild. “Good evening, _monsieur_. We should have a table free in a moment or two.”

He ignored her and marched up to the bar. Near Constance, Porthos and d’Artagnan had both turned to look at the guy, and Porthos’s expression sent a prickle of fear up her spine. “Excuse me, _monsieur_ —”

Before she could finish, the man had pulled a gun from his coat pocket and fired it at Jacques, who dropped to the floor. Porthos leapt for the man, but the gunman ran, avoiding the panicking customers who hindered Porthos chasing after him. D’Artagnan was on his mobile. Constance froze for half a second, then bolted to the bar and found Jacques alive, face white as her apron, bleeding from a stomach wound. “Call the paramedics! He’s been shot!”

A strange woman came to Constance’s side. “I’m a nurse, let me help.”

Constance sat back, holding Jacques’ hand. “Hold on, darling. Hold on.”

“Constance....”

“Don’t talk. Just breathe.”

D’Artagnan dropped down beside the nurse. “I’m a paramedic. Help’s coming.”

Serge fetched the café’s first aid kit, and other people provided coats and jumpers for Jacques’s comfort. But even as she tried to encourage Jacques to stay awake, stay alive, his eyes were draining of life. “Please, save him,” she begged d’Artagnan.

“No pulse,” the nurse said. D’Artagnan tore open Jacques’s shirt and began chest compressions. “Someone watch for the ambulance!” the nurse yelled at the customers clustered around.

D’Artagnan was still doing CPR when the S vehicle arrived. Porthos forced the onlookers back, and the SAMU team took over under the direction of a doctor. They tried a defibrillator, but Jacques’s heart refused to start.

After ten minutes, the doctor shook his head. “He’s gone.” Constance gasped, her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, madame.”

She choked, her breath caught in her chest, nothing but a helpless sob emerging. She felt arms around her, and d’Artagnan held her hands. This couldn’t be real. “He promised me everything would be all right.”

“Who did, hon?”

“Athos. He _promised.”_

Then she broke down completely, weeping her heart out over Jacques’s body.


	7. Chapter 7

Athos was struggling through an English language novel when his phone rang. “Hello, Porthos.”

“Mate, you need to get over the café right now. Jacques Bonacieux’s been shot. Assassinated.”

“Shit. Constance?”

“Hysterical. It all happened right in front of her.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He made it in five by running. Outside _Le Roitelet_ , police vehicles and a SAMU unit blocked the street, dozens of people stood around, watching the show. A police hearse was parked near the entrance. He showed his ID and was allowed inside. Porthos spotted him, and jerked his head. “Over there.”

Constance was in the corner, a blanket over her shoulders, being spoken to by a paramedic. Athos approached. “Constance. I’m so sorry.”

She looked up, her face blotched and puffy, tears spilling from her eyes. “He’s dead. You said it would be okay but he’s _dead_.”

He sat beside her and took her hand, but when she put her face on his shoulder and sobbed, he wrapped his arms around her and held tight.

“Monsieur, are you a friend?” the paramedic asked.

“One of them. Also a police officer. I can take over unless she needs medical attention.”

“There’s nothing I can do medically. She needs friends.”

Athos nodded, and the man stood and went back to his colleagues. “Let me take you upstairs,” Athos said.

“I need to...to say goodbye.” She struggled out of his embrace, and he helped her stand. “Where is he?”

“This way.”

Bonacieux’s body had been moved to a gurney and the body bag was about to be closed. Athos signalled to the coroner’s assistant to wait, so Constance could lean over her husband and whisper to him. Then she slipped his wedding ring from his finger and put it in her bloodied apron pocket. Athos put his arm around her again as the body bag was closed, and the loaded gurney taken outside. She wept again through the whole process.

Porthos found him. “Me and D’Artagnan are witnesses. I’ve given them everything I saw, but I’ll have to go down to the local commissariat tomorrow to make a formal statement with him. You right with her?”

“Yes. Call Aramis or Sylvie. Perhaps one of them can stay the night.”

“Why don’t you?”

Athos shook his head. “She’ll want someone else.”

Constance roused. “No, you stay.”

“Of course.” He looked over her head to his partner. “Better let Treville know in the morning that I might be late.”

“Yeah, sure. Constance, I’m sorry about this.” But Constance had her face buried in Athos’s jumper and didn’t react.

“Does the captain need to speak to her? Could you ask?” Athos said to Porthos, who went off and came back almost immediately.

“He said he’ll call tomorrow.”

“Did you get a look at the gunman?”

Porthos shook his head. “Not even totally sure it was a man. Face covered, bulky clothes. Pro hit, looked like. He was on a motorbike and out of here in seconds.”

Athos put his finger to his lips and looked down at Constance. “We’ll talk later. Constance, come with me, my dear.”

She resisted. “The café.”

“It’s okay. Serge is handling it,” Porthos said. “He’ll call Clementine or Marie. Don’t worry about it.”

“Just come upstairs,” Athos urged.

She let him guide her up to the apartment, and once there, Athos removed her bloodied clothes and found a dressing gown for her to throw on over the top. He left her in the living room wrapped in a soft blanket, and made her sweetened tea. Sylvie called him while he was in the kitchen. “Do you want me to come over there?”

“Yes, please. Can you stay the night?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“This is awful, Athos. What a thing to happen.”

“Yes, I know.”

He found Constance staring into space, tears drying on her face. He gave her the tea and steadied her hand as she drank it. “It’s my fault,” she said.

“No, it’s not. How could it be?”

“If I hadn’t gone snooping.”

“We don’t know this is related to that.”

“What else would it be?”

Athos agreed, but didn’t want to encourage that line of thinking. “It’s still not your fault.”

“I didn’t love him any more, Athos. He died, and I didn’t love him.” She burst into tears again.

Athos took the cup and put his hand on her shoulder. He didn’t know what to say to this. _No, you didn’t love him, and that’s okay_? _He didn’t deserve you and treated you badly, so don’t mourn?_ He couldn’t see how those kind of comments would help.

The weeping didn’t last long. She looked too tired to sustain such emotion for long. He gave her back her tea. “Drink it, and then a hot bath or a shower? Sylvie’s on her way over.”

Constance nodded. “Will you stay?”

“She will. I can come back tomorrow morning. I’m sure I can ask for leave.”

“What if that gunman comes back?”

“He won’t. If he wanted you dead, he’d have shot you too. Jacques was his target.”

She put the cup down. “But _why_?”

“I don’t know, Constance. The investigations are being handled by a different department and by officers more senior than me. I hear whispers but nothing confirmed. Not yet.”

“I was thinking how I was going to break it to him that I wanted a divorce. I didn’t want to hurt him too much. He was trying so hard. So hard.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I wanted to love him still. But it was gone. I think it was gone before he hit me.”

“It happens. You can’t hurt him now with how you feel, my dear. He died not knowing.”

“I hope so. I want that to be true.”

He gave her more tea, and she was calmer after she’d had the second cup. “Why don’t you have that bath? I can let Sylvie in.”

“I feel awful being so much trouble.”

He took her hand in a firm grip. “You are not _trouble_. Not to me, not to Sylvie, not to any of us. We love you.”

She smiled, but that in turn became tears. “Everyone’s so nice to me. Even Jacques was being nice.”

 _So he bloody ought to have been,_ Athos thought. “Go run a bath or have a shower, and go to bed. Sylvie will be here soon.”

“I wish you would stay too.”

“Then I will.”

“No, I shouldn’t have asked.”

He held her hand in both of his. “You are _not_ trouble. Go on.”

She hesitated a minute, then covered his hands with her other one. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Sylvie arrived not two minutes later. “Thank God you live close by.” She hugged him. “How is she?”

“About how you’d expect. Rational, sad, guilty. She’s having a bath and I told her to head to bed. She wants me to stay. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“But that’s bad for you.”

“It’s only one night.”

“No, I’ll speak to her. When can you come back here?”

“I was planning to be here in the morning, stay all day.”

“Then you do that. You could go now, if you want.”

“No, I’ll say goodbye.” Constance had been betrayed too badly for him to sneak out when he’d promised to stay. He wanted to stay, and that was why he shouldn’t.

Sylvie went to knock on the bathroom door to say she was there, and then returned to sit with Athos. “Why would anyone not married to him want to kill Jacques?”

“I don’t know,” Athos lied. “His family will have to be told.”

“In the morning,” Sylvie said firmly. “Let them have one last good night’s rest.”

Athos tended to agree, but.... “The press will be all over it. They shouldn’t hear it from a reporter.”

“Yes. Bugger.”

“I’ll stay for that.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Sylvie, it’s my job to deliver bad information.”

“News?”

“Yes.” Athos wiped his face.

“Are you looking after yourself? Porthos is so tied up in d’Artagnan and moving right now.”

“I don’t need a minder.”

“Asking as a friend, you nit.”

“I’m fine.” He sipped his tea and dared her to disagree.

Constance wasn’t in the bath long, and when she emerged she was calm, though understandably still red-eyed. Sylvie swept her into a hug. “I’m all right,” Constance said.

“Of course you are.” Sylvie let her go.

“I have to call his mother. Athos, you really don’t have to stay. I was being silly and weak.”

“You were not. But I can stay while you make the call, and any others.”

Constance shot him a grateful look, and held out her hand, which he took, drawing her down to the sofa. “Thank you. Sylvie, do you really want to stay?”

“Try and shift me, madame.”

“It’s never worth arguing with her,” Athos said with a smile, and Constance managed a tiny one in reply. “Are you up to this? One of us could call, and you can speak to her tomorrow.”

Constance’s mouth turned down. “You don’t know her. She’ll flay me for not having called already.”

She dialled the number, then Athos held her hand on one side, and Sylvie sat with her arm around Constance’s shoulder on the other. The call was not a pleasant experience for any of them. Madame Bonacieux the elder took the news badly, and flailed around casting blame, mostly onto Constance but on the police, Jacques, and apparently their friends she hadn’t even met. Constance switched her hand around so she was holding Athos’s, and as the conversation progressed, her grip grew tighter and tighter, as did the lines around her mouth and eyes, with the sheer effort of remaining polite.

Finally, Athos had had enough. He took the phone from Constance’s fingers, and said, “Madame Bonacieux, this is Lieutenant Athos de la Fère of the National Police. Constance can’t continue speaking to you at the moment. May I suggest she call you again later in the week?”

“How dare you? Put my daughter-in-law back on the phone immediately.”

“I regret I can’t. Goodnight.”

Then he turned the phone off and handed it to Sylvie. “Don’t give it back until tomorrow.”

Constance looked at them. “She’ll make me pay for this.”

“Then block her number. Let one of us talk to her. You don’t have to listen to abuse.”

“I still have to call _my_ mother.”

Sylvie tapped her hand. “Tomorrow, darling. There will be a lot of things to do but you have to stagger yourself.”

Athos added, “The police will want to interview you too, as a formality.”

“I can’t...Jacques was _murdered_ , Athos. Executed. Will you catch the man?”

“We’ll try,” he said. “But that’s out of your hands. Go to bed, and I’ll return at nine, or earlier if that suits Sylvie better?”

“Nine is good,” Sylvie said.

“Thank you,” Constance said, turning and hugging him tight. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

“No offence taken, my dear.” He kissed her hair. “Try to sleep.”

Reluctantly, he broke free of her hold, and stood. “See you in the morning.”

He walked home, his weak leg more than usually tiresome, his thoughts whirling with guilt and worry and wondering which of several possibilities had led to Bonacieux’s death. He had lied to Constance and Sylvie both, because he knew much more about Bonacieux’s involvement with the criminal world than he’d admitted. He hadn’t predicted the man’s death, but he could have if he’d exerted himself. He could have at least warned him to lay low. But that might have just meant Constance being killed along with him.

Why such a public killing? Why make sure his wife and customers knew? Did they suspect her involvement?

And how much of a sociopath was he that not only could he not dredge up a gram of sorrow for Bonacieux’s death, but also that his main reaction to it had been relief that Constance was now free from a dreadful marriage.

But he could never admit these shameful reactions to _anyone_.

************************

Sylvie shared Constance’s bed that night, as they had done a few times in Uni. No stranger to grief and loss, she was not surprised that Constance slept heavily and mostly peacefully. Reality would hit in the morning, she knew.

She slipped out when Constance began to stir, and had a quick shower before making coffee for breakfast. She found some day old croissants which would warm up okay. She texted Aramis to say all was well, relatively speaking, but wasn’t sure when she’d be home.

He replied, _Do what you need to, love, and I’ll see when you come back. All my love and sympathy to C_

Constance staggered out twenty minutes later. “I thought you’d gone home.”

“Never. Coffee?”

“Please.”

She sipped her drink in silence, ignoring the pastries. Sylvie ate and read her emails, with one eye on her friend for when she was ready to talk.

“I was lying in bed thinking of all the things I’ll have to do, and that’s before I reopen the café. If I ever can.”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“A place where a man was murdered? Who’d want to eat there?”

Sylvie grinned wryly. “You’ll probably find business will pick up with all the sticky beaks.”

Constance pulled a face. “Sick.”

“Human nature. But there’s no rush, darling. You come first.”

“I have employees, Sylvie.”

“And they’ll understand. Anyway, you have a manager. Just run limited hours and put a note on the door explaining why.”

“And God, the funeral. His mother will be appalling, and she’s bound to want a bigger service than I can afford.”

“Then she pays.” Sylvie took her friend’s hand. “Darling, you’re in charge. She has no say. Just don’t deal with her over the phone.”

“Jacques’s phone!” Constance half-rose as if she was about to race off to the police morgue to find it.

“It’ll all be at the police station. Athos will help you. He’s coming over, remember?”

She relaxed. “Yes. Thank God.” But then her expression shifted.

“What? Is there something wrong with Athos being here?”

“No, no. I had a dream this morning. A nightmare, really. A man was chasing Jacques and me. Couldn’t see his face. Felt like hours and I was so tired. I fell down and the man shot Jacques. But when I turned him over, it was Athos. How stupid is that?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. Dreams are just like farts. Waste material of the brain.”

“Brain farts.”

Sylvie grinned. “Yes. They don’t foretell the future or mean anything special. You were just sorting through the events of last night. You didn’t want Athos to die.”

“I really don’t. But I felt like, yes, of course I was married to Athos, not Jacques.” She rubbed her arms. “I sobbed and sobbed and I was still crying when I woke up.”

“You’ll have weird dreams for a while, if I’m anything to go by. Where he’s alive, where he dies in different ways, where he’s alive but your friends or your mum dies instead...like I said, it means nothing but your brain healing from an overload of emotion. It takes a while.”

“I know you know,” Constance said. “Are you off to work this morning?”

“As soon as he gets here. And I can be here tonight, or you can come to us if you prefer.”

“Let me see how I feel. I have to be alone sometime, and he was away so much...he’d been sleeping on the sofa these last few weeks. You know, since....”

Sylvie squeezed her hand. “More stuff for your brain to sort through on top of the rest. You’ll be fine though. You’re doing exactly how you should be, I think. I’ve seen a lot of bereaved people. You’re strong and brave.”

“And I didn’t love him.” Sylvie held her breath, wondering if Constance meant to say that out loud. “It’s okay. I need to be honest. I didn’t love him, and I was trying to find a way to tell him. Now I don’t have to, so I feel guilty at being relieved at that.”

“Only natural, though. And people grieve for their former spouses, even when they hated them. If Athos’s wife was shot, you can bet he’d be sad.”

“Jacques wasn’t as bad as _that_.”

 _Yes, he was_ , Sylvie thought. He took my beautiful bright friend and turned her into a perpetually worried drudge.

The door buzzer went. “That’ll be Athos. Could you let him in? I’d better get dressed,” Constance said.

Athos looked more tired than Constance did. “Bad night?” Sylvie asked.

Athos didn’t answer. “How is she?”

“Pretty good, considering. Do you mind if I get to work now? I can stay until nine but I don’t want to abuse the privilege.”

“Not at all. Thank you.”

Sylvie went back to the bedroom. “I’ll head off now, darling. I’ll bring supper over tonight. Do you want Aramis here?”

“No. I love him, but I don’t want to talk to anyone more than you two. I can manage. There’s food downstairs.”

“Then I’ll warm it for you. No arguing, Constance.” She kissed her cheek. “Be brave, but be merciful to yourself.”

“I’ll try. Where’s my phone?”

“Here. Do _not_ call that woman. Or answer calls from her. Let Athos deal.”

“I promise.” She shuddered a little. “It’s not like I enjoyed that call.”

“None of us did. See you this evening.”


	8. Chapter 8

Like walking in treacle, the week passed slowly but surely, and Constance inched forward towards a new life without Jacques’s shadow over it. Athos was at her side every moment. He’d taken a week’s leave and refused to listen to her protests. “I have nothing better to do with it,” he said, and that was an end to it.

The police took her statement, not that she could tell them anything Porthos and d’Artagnan hadn’t already. Jacques’s body was released three days later, and the ‘delightful’ task of preparing a funeral began. Claudia, his mother, was forced to route her complaints and demands through Athos, who was as implacable as he was polite, but even with this filter, enough got back to her that by Friday, Constance was ready to throw the biggest tantrum since she turned two.

“Tell my mother-in-law the service will be simple, dignified and affordable, or I swear to God I will have his body taken to the crematorium direct, and I’ll post the ashes back to her, without any funeral at all!”

Athos’s lip twitched. “Why don’t you?”

“Oooh, don’t dare me. For a centime, I would, I really would.”

“Perhaps you should sleep on it. Then make the arrangements you want and leave it at that. I’ll let her know what you decide.”

She deflated. “You are _such_ a darling, Athos. I couldn’t cope without you and Sylvie right now.”

“It’s an honour.”

“I think you mean ‘pain in the arse’.”

He looked at her sideways. “Aphasia doesn’t work like that.”

The café stayed closed for two days as a mark of respect, then reopened for the afternoons and evenings with Serge, Marie and Clem handling it all. Jacques’s former business needed no handling as all his business partners had evaporated, leaving no documentation, and his bank records were of no use.

“They were all arrested, weren’t they?” Constance said over lunch after a visit to the bank and the lawyer.

“I can’t—”

“I know, I know. Just tell me what he did before he died was worth it.”

“It was. We gained valuable information.”

She stabbed a chicory leaf. “Not very worthy of him, since he had to be forced into it.”

“He kept his word though. To us and to you.”

“For a whole three weeks, yes.” Her eyes filled and she angrily dashed the tears away. “Why did he have to become so awful, Athos? Why do the people we love betray us?” Then she glanced at him guiltily. She wasn’t supposed to know about the wife.

“Sylvie told you about my marriage.” She nodded, staring at her plate. “My answer is, I don’t know. People change. Their feelings change. You can’t hold the wind.”

“He would have been so upset if I had divorced him. Utterly broken. Maybe I should tell his mother he was spared that.”

Athos touched her hand, his eyebrows raised. “Please don’t do that.”

“I know. Why the hell did he have to get mixed up with criminals anyway?” He seemed bemused by her vehemence, but she was done being the nice, polite little wife. “And why do I have to keep running a café when it’s the last thing on earth I wanted to do with my life? I wanted to be a journalist, and have a happy relationship, and kids, and conversations about something other than unreliable suppliers. I don’t want to do this any more.” She shoved at her plate and knocked her water glass. Athos quickly caught it before it fell. “Sorry.”

“No need. Are you finished?” She nodded. “Then shall we take a walk?”

She took his arm as they headed to the park. He had never protested her touching him, and the contact was a source of comfort keeping her sane at the moment. She had been so lonely, so touch starved, long before Jacques’s death. Now there wasn’t even the prospect of a makeup fuck with him. She’d have to buy a vibrator. Or starting dating.

“Oh God, I’m a widow. People will see me as this sex-starved old hag.”

Athos looked at her, eyebrow raised again at her apparently random outburst. “Do I want to know?”

“No, not really. Do you see yourself being alone for the rest of your life, Athos?”

“I doubt that will be your future.”

“I wasn’t talking about me.”

“I’m content as I am.”

“I need people around me.”

“I have people.”

“I’m making you angry, aren’t I? I’m sorry. I'm just so angry with him for leaving me like this. For getting mixed up with criminals. He was trying to be the son his father wanted, and it killed him. Now I have to start all over again, looking for a partner, building a life with them.”

“You don’t have to. There’s no hurry.”

“Yes, there is. I want children, Athos. I always have. It’s all right for you blokes. Look at Mick Jagger. He just squirts out his sperm at his age and here’s a baby, there’s a baby, oops there’s another one. Women are different. We have a time limit.”

He made a curious noise and when she looked, she discovered he was chuckling in his own quiet way. “I’ve never heard you laugh before.”

“I’m sorry. The image of Jagger with a semen gun.”

She pantomimed holding a cock and waving it around. “Be careful there, Mick, that thing might go off!” His grin grew wider. “I like making you smile.”

He squeezed her arm. “You do it often.”

“Then I’m not completely useless.” She closed her eyes as a wave of exhaustion swept over her. “I’m tired.”

He took her arm and without asking, began to walk in the direction of the café. She let him support her, his strength replacing her spent energy. All she wanted to do was sleep lately, but every day there was something she had to get up for, always someone she had to see, or speak to, or talk about. The café was just about all she could cope with normally, but now Jacques had laid all this extra work on her. _Selfish bastard._

Athos made her tea while she sat on the sofa like a lump. “Don’t you mind running around after me?” she said as he set the mugs down.

He sat next to her. “When I needed help, my friends gave it. I’m giving to you. You need it.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. He smelled so nice and felt so good, and she was a shitty friend for taking advantage of him. “I’ll be all right after the funeral.”

“It will help.”

“Then I need to get back to work. Fun. Not.”

“Constance, may I advise you?”

“Of course.”

“You have time. You have choices. You’re young. You can do what you want. Take your time. Don’t be rushed.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. Don’t make decisions while you’re still....” He made a wave motion, up and down.

“I won’t. You’re such a good man.”

He didn’t answer. She sipped her tea and let her mind drift for a few moments. Just a minute or two when she didn’t have to think about this mess.

************************

Athos let Sylvie into the apartment, his finger on his lips. He pointed to Constance fast asleep on the sofa. “Poor love,” Sylvie whispered.

“She’s been out for a couple of hours. Couldn’t bear to wake her.”

“I can imagine. Are you staying for supper?”

“No. Best you two have time to talk. Jacques’s mother is being unpleasant.”

“Nothing new there.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for looking after her.”

“My honour.”

Athos took his time walking home. He’d lied to Sylvie. He wasn’t so much leaving them alone as getting away from the dangerous temptation to sit with Constance, to hold her, comfort her, to stay by her side for the rest of his life.

There were so many good reasons he should keep away from her—he was a drunk, he was ten years older, he was the indirect reason her husband had been murdered, he’d failed to stop that happening, he had trust issues about marriage deeper than the Marianas trench, and his job was notoriously hard on relationships—and only one to stay with her. He loved her.

Which was why he would do all he could to discourage any deeper affection between them. Constance had the world at her feet, and once she was over this shock, would realise it. He would help her realise her dreams, and let her go.

Bonacieux’s funeral was held three days’ later. With reinforcement from Athos and Sylvie, Constance had stuck to her original wish of a simple, dignified service in their local church. She had requested no flowers, but wasn’t surprised when a bouquet from the man’s mother turned up. Before the service, she was a bundle of nerves. “I wish I had the courage to ask all my friends to stay away. This is going to be horrible. His family will be awful, especially to you two.”

Sylvie had patted her shoulder. “Just let her try something.”

Constance turned panicked eyes on her friend. “I don’t want a fight at the funeral!”

“There won’t be. Just a good solid cold shoulder, right, Athos?”

“I’m very hard of hearing. I can’t hear someone trying to insult me.” He pointed to his head. “Brain damage.”

Constance smiled a little and Sylvie giggled. “That’ll drive the old girl crazy. Anyway, your mum and your brothers and their wives will be there. And all of us. Porthos will protect you.”

“We all will,” Athos promised.

He had in fact had a word with his friends, and Captain Treville who was attending as a mark of respect to Constance. She didn’t make a move that day without at least one of them, and usually two, shadowing her, ready to step in if Bonacieux’s family grew hostile. Fortunately, whether it was because of the large contingent of friends and family on Constance’s side, or a desire to save face, Madame Bonacieux the elder was cold, but distant. The siblings made a little more effort to speak to Constance, but mostly that side of the family kept to themselves.

The most difficult moment came after the funeral ended, and the hearse had borne the coffin away to the crematorium. Bonacieux’s mother approached Constance, and Athos and Aramis moved up behind her. “You will of course want to sell the café,” madame said.

Constance folded her arms. “Why do you say that?”

“Jacques told me you had no talent for the business, and now he’s gone, you surely want to be rid of it. Our family company would be prepared to make an offer for it.”

“Madame, the café belongs to me. Jacques had very little to do with it. I have no plans to sell it at this moment.”

“It only belonged to you because Jacques foolishly split the proceeds from your last venture, which he started. Our family have a moral interest in seeing it continue, as he would have wished.”

Constance had turned red, and Athos, having seen her explode in anger more than once since Bonacieux’s death, knew the warning signs. Aramis caught his signal. “Madame Bonacieux, I’ve always wondered how your family became to be involved in the hospitality industry. My father made Calvados before he and my mother retired to Spain, did you know?” He stepped forward, and took her arm, to the woman’s surprise. “You might have heard of him. Jean d’Herblay? We were quite well known locally for our distilling.”

He turned her away from Constance, and Athos took the chance to steer Constance in a different direction, towards her mother and brothers. At least there she could count on kindness and sympathy. “What did that old baggage want, my love?” her mother said.

“She wants the café, Mum. She can’t bloody well have it.”

Athos left her in her family’s safekeeping, and went in search of Porthos and d’Artagnan. “Dragon watch still on?” d’Artagnan asked. “That woman has a face like a pig giving birth.”

Porthos barked out a laugh, then covered his mouth when Athos gave him a disapproving look. “It’s his fault,” he muttered, pointing at his fiancé.

“Aramis is handling her. We need to get Constance and her family away from here.”

“Watch out, the dragon’s headed this way,” d’Artagnan said.

Athos turned, ready to leap into action, but Captain Treville ran interference this time. Athos took the opportunity to walk swiftly over to Constance’s oldest brother. He gestured towards the mother-in-law, still enmeshed in Aramis’s conversational trap. “Perhaps your mother and sister might like to take your leave.”

Jean, the brother, who must have taken after their father because he was nothing like his tiny, pale-skinned sister, made a face. “Good idea. Mum’s going to kidnap Connie and keep her until that battleaxe goes home.”

Pleased with that, Athos went to Constance. “Run away now while we have her contained.”

“God, yes.” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Thank you. And thank Aramis. I couldn’t have got through this without all of you.”

“You’re welcome. Now go, my dear.”

She hugged him tighter, then released him. “Call me.”

He nodded, and then her family swept her away. He stood watching them go, remembering the warm feel of her arms around him, the delicate scent of her skin the way her mouth curved even in sadness.

Time for other people to step in now. He had to leave her to them.

************************

D’Artagnan stretched out with Porthos on Aramis’s and Sylvie’s sofa after a late lunch. “Shame Athos had another arrangement. Seems like it’s been ages since we all met up.”

“Lunch with the boss,” Porthos said.

Aramis had wondered about that convenient excuse. “The captain was nearly as protective of Athos today as Athos was of Constance, I noticed.”

“He didn’t take his eyes off her _once,_ ” d’Artagnan said. “Her mum must have wondered who the hell he was.”

“A _friend_ ,” Sylvie said firmly. “God, d’Artagnan, he’s been a saint to her this week. I’m sure Constance explained that to her mother.”

D’Artagnan raised his hands defensively. “I wasn’t implying Athos was doing anything wrong. Just that Jacques dies and this strange, cute guy turns up and acts like Constance’s shadow all day.”

“I think Athos might be more emotionally involved with Constance than she realises.”

Porthos nodded at Aramis. “The way he was looking at her today. I haven’t seen him do that to anyone before. Not even with the bitch.”

“Hey,” Sylvie said.

“Sorry. Um, the heinous ex-wife.”

“Better,” she said. “Though in the circumstances....” She glanced at Aramis. “You really think he likes her that way? I mean, they’ve become really close, but she’s been leaning on him pretty hard.”

Aramis paused to consider. “I think Athos is a lonely, withdrawn man and Constance is like the spring sun on a plant kept too long in the dark. He can’t help but be drawn to her.”

“You know this is the worst possible time for that to be happening,” his wife said.

“Is it? Constance’s marriage was failing before he died.”

“That doesn’t mean she wants to jump into bed with anyone, even Athos,” she snapped.

“Uh, guys, do you want us to leave you to it?” d’Artagnan asked.

“No, please stay,” Aramis said, stroking Sylvie’s hand by way of apology. “I forget you aren’t used to the way we analyse our friends’ relationships.”

“Or set them up,” Porthos said, grinning at him. “Admit it, Aramis, you’re a matchmaker.”

“Worked for you two, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.” His expression grew serious. “Athos isn’t me, remember. He’s not over you know who.”

“He never will be unless he moves on.”

“He’s still convinced it was his fault his wife left him,” Sylvie said.

“Yeah, I know,” Porthos said. “He might be a bit too fucked up for Constance right now.”

“He won’t say anything to her,” she said. “He’s always perfectly correct with her, like he’s afraid she’ll get the wrong idea. He lets her hang all over him because that’s what she does, but he won’t respond the same way.”

“Athos’s willpower has always amazed me,” Aramis admitted. “I think they’d be perfect together but,” he added as Sylvie drew breath to argue, “I won’t interfere.”

“Constance needs to sort out her life. And Athos needs to get past his divorce.”

“That’ll never happen,” Porthos said. He tugged d’Artagnan closer as if for comfort. “He’s stuck on that. I tried everything I could, and he’s done good every other way but for that.”

“Time heals,” d’Artagnan said.

“Not always,” Sylvie said.

That night in bed, lying in Aramis’s arms after making love, Sylvie drew patterns on his chest with her fingertips. “You really think Athos and Constance could work?”

“Eventually. I can’t see why not.”

“I love them both. I want them to be happy. And I’ve seen how he looks at her.”

“Then maybe they’ll find their own way to each other. We have to be careful with him in a way I didn’t need to worry about with Porthos and d’Artagnan. He’s worked so hard to get to where he is.”

“I know.”

He kissed her hair and settled her more comfortably in his embrace. Athos’s wife and Constance were as unalike as a whale and a spaniel. Anne de la Fère had been a dangerously beautiful woman, with a feline grace, a lethal wit, and an inability to overlook flaws. Constance was equally as intelligent, but she didn’t use her brains to be cruel, and where Anne’s heart had had a sliver of ice in it, Constance’s burned with kindness and generosity hot as a furnace. Athos and Anne had been so wrapped up in their passion and desire for each other, no one else could penetrate or share in their enjoyment. Constance, on the other hand, was the kind of person to spread the love around when she was happy, and to keep her sorrows tight to her chest to spare others any pain from seeing it.

Aramis could easily wish Constance to be with Athos, for Athos’s sake. But whether his beloved friend was right for such a bright and vivid woman, he wasn’t sure.

He knew one thing though. Athos was a thousand times more suited to Constance than Jacques Bonacieux. Then again, a pet rock was more suited than Jacques had been.

************************

Athos took his boss to a restaurant near the train station, of which he knew little, but the exterior gave him hopes of a decent meal. Treville sat down and pulled up the menu. “I’ve been to some unpleasant funerals in my time, but that one heads the rankings so far. It’s going to take some damn good food to remove the taste from my mouth.”

Athos felt much the same. “A hard woman to love. I almost felt sorry for Bonacieux.”

“Damn fool escaped from his family when he married a lovely lass, and then he threw it away. I wanted to talk to you about Bonacieux, Athos. Thought it best to get away from the office before I did so.”

“I’m listening.”

They paused to order their drinks and food, then Treville leaned in. “Grimaud visited your shopkeeper the day after Bonacieux said he’d told him about your drinking. Bonacieux almost certainly had no idea why Grimaud would be interested, but we’ve now firmly established a clear relationship between Grimaud and Fèron.”

Hope sprang up in Athos’s heart, fierce and sudden. “Has the shopkeeper admitted he lied? What about the CCTV? Did he erase it?”

“The prosecutor is working on that angle. But it’s beginning to look like Bonacieux wasn’t killed for what he could tell us about his business partners, but because he could dismantle the case for dismissing you as an unreliable drunk. If whoever killed him didn’t know we knew he’d passed on that gossip, the killing makes sense.”

“Wouldn’t they be concerned we would look into his business relationships?”

“Even if we did, if we hadn’t found those drugs through Constance, we would have no suspicions, no motive to work from. It would be just as likely Constance hired a hitman because he beat her, as it would that he died for what he was doing in business.”

Athos hissed in a breath. “Tell me no one believes—”

Treville held up his hand. “No. Absolutely not. However, the good news for us is, if Bonacieux was killed because of the appeal on Marcheaux’s conviction, then it’s almost certain his business partners have no idea we were tracking him, or that his last delivery carried a GPS device.”

“They don’t know we know who they are and what they’re dealing.”

“Exactly.”

“And Grimaud? Have we got enough evidence to take him down as well?”

“Depends on the shopkeeper. I want Fèron, Athos. He’s been getting away with perverting the rule of law for far too long.”

“Someone close to him ordered the hit on Bonacieux.”

Treville lifted his freshly delivered beer. “I’ll bet you ten euros it was Grimaud. It’s his style.”

“I’m not taking that bet.”

The food was good and went a long way to erasing the unpleasant memories of Bonacieux’s appalling mother. Athos wondered how Constance was, then firmly diverted his mind from her. He needed to let her go.

After the meal, Treville sat back with a cup of coffee. “So how are you keeping, Athos? It can’t have been much fun looking after Constance and dealing with all that last week.”

“It was a honour to help.”

“She’s a brave woman, and I’m always glad to see people get away from abusers, though not exactly in this way.” Athos nodded, hoping the lack of verbal encouragement would lead his boss to change the topic . “Something the matter?”

“No, sir.”

“Porthos’s new relationship isn’t leaving you moping at home, I hope.”

Why did everyone assume he was hopeless unless Porthos was at his beck and call? “I’m fine, sir. I leave the house at least once a week.”

“Glad to hear it. You’ve been doing well. Best decision I ever made to push for you to come back to work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Right. Well, I should head back to Paris. See you at the commissariat tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

With the funeral over, Athos's life was now abruptly back to the way it had been before Bonacieux’s death only a week and a half ago, though it felt like months. He was at liberty to do what he liked, with Constance safely with her family, and his other friends all eating lunch together at Sylvie’s place. Strangely, he didn’t feel his usual relief at being alone and without demands on his attention.

Exercise would be good for him, but a long walk would lead to rumination, which would be bad for him. A run, then. On the walk back to his apartment, he considered that if only he were allowed to pass on what Treville had told him, he had the means to give both Constance and Sylvie some excellent news. He hoped that they would find out, eventually, although it was by no means certain that the shopkeeper would retract his lies, or that Athos’s evidence would be accepted this time. And Constance might well blame herself for her innocent remarks which her husband had passed on to a very dangerous man with very dangerous friends, if those remarks were the cause of her husband’s death.

He had to stop thinking about Constance.

His brain had other ideas. Even when running at his top speed, until it hurt and he could barely breathe, thoughts of her intruded. Eating dinner reminded him of meals with her, and using his home gym was a perfect opportunity for his mind to drift onto memories of her laugh, her pretty lips and eyes, the swell of her breasts under her prim clothes. The kindness in her voice, the sympathy in her heart even for an abusive wretch like Bonacieux.

He kept telling himself, yes, he loved her. No, he couldn’t have her, because she needed someone bright and kind and sociable. A middle-aged introvert with a cracked head was not a prize, and he wouldn’t take advantage of her kind nature to impose on her.

But the more he told himself this, the more miserable he became. Perhaps going back to work, with Porthos cheerfully boasting of his happiness with d’Artagnan, would be enough of a distraction.

Until then, he’d think about the prospect of going to his parents at Easter. Another form of misery would distract him well enough.


	9. Chapter 9

Constance leaned forward. “Clem, are you _sure_ you want to take on a full time job?”

“Absolutely sure.. The money would be good, the hours suit me, and I like it here.”

“Then let’s do it.”

They grinned at each other. “Are _you_ sure you want to give up working here?”

“God yes. I wouldn’t mind doing the behind scenes work, or serving out front from time to time, but both is too much. It’s just not what I wanted to do with my life. Now Jacques is gone, I don’t have to worry about disappointing him.”

Clem made a face at her. “You gave up too much for him.”

“He gave up things for me. I didn’t make him happy, and he couldn’t make me happy. I didn’t wish him dead.”

Clem touched her hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s no secret that our marriage was failing.” Constance straightened up. “But now, as a good friend told me, I have choices, and I should spend some time deciding what to do.”

“Good for you, love. By the way, your friend, Porthos du Vallon, called and wondered if it was too soon to talk about booking his engagement party. I said I’d ask.”

“Oh yes, he has to have it here. And I’ll definitely be working that night. It’ll be fun. Call him back and tell him we’ll do it whenever he wants.”

“For free?”

“No, he wouldn’t let me do that. But a good price for a good mate.”

“Done. And you want me to handle staffing?”

“If you want. Or I can do the recruiting, free you up for running the rest of it. I’ll still be here, Clem. And I don’t want to be totally hands off. But you make the decisions, and I’ll help as you want me to. Let me know if you get fed up.”

“I won’t. I’m looking forward to it.”

So that was how, nearly a month after the funeral, Constance allowed herself to take the biggest step towards changing her life since she’d decided to leave University to have a baby and marry Jacques. Until Jacques’s mother had tried to bully her into selling the café, she was half thinking along those lines herself. After the attack, she was determined not to do so, but she still wanted to change her life while hanging onto it.

She and Mum had talked for hours and hours, and her oldest brother, Jean, also had advice for her. On her return to Paris, Sylvie had encouraged her to look into whether she could finish her degree with credit for her past studies, but also to consider if journalism was still what she really wanted to do. “Darling, you’re bright enough that you could do anything you put your mind to. And being a reporter can be a shitty job at times.”

“But it’s an important one. The press keeps the politicians in line, and helps push social change. We need honest reporters.”

“A well-run café can be a locus for social change too, you realise.”

“But I’m shit at running a café.”

Sylvie had folded her arms and glared. “Who said that? Jacques? His damn mother? Your café is beautiful, and warm and welcoming, and there’s always a good meal to be had. If you’re shit at it, imagine what you could achieve if you were brilliant.”

“But I don’t _want_ to be brilliant at it. That was the difference between Jacques and me. He wanted to be the best. I just wanted to be good enough.”

“Not the only difference,” Sylvie muttered. “Anyway, whatever you want to do, I’ll support you and so will Aramis. We want to help, so let us.”

“I will.”

Now with the decision made, Constance wanted to tell Athos, because it was partly his pep talk which had set her thinking about changing direction. Clem said he hadn’t been into the café since the funeral, but perhaps that was because Constance wasn’t there. And he had spent an awful lot of time with her before the funeral. Perhaps he’d had his quotient of social contact for a while.

She could _call_ him of course. But that felt a bit weird. The only time she’d called him before—and it wasn’t even her doing it, but Porthos for her—was when Jacques had been killed. She hadn’t ever called him just for a chat, and she wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. Especially as she had spent far too much time thinking about Athos when she was supposed to be in mourning for Jacques. Unhappy marriage or not, getting all fluttery about another man when your husband was barely in his grave was a bit off.

There was also the fact she _was_ getting all fluttery about him. The man had no interest in other women, Porthos had told her, after the divorce. No dates, not even a comment about someone being pretty or nice in that way. Perhaps he was now firmly celibate. All Constance knew was that she had no way of asking him without it looking dodgy and revealing her own feelings.

Still, she missed him—just as a friend, she told herself firmly—and was looking forward to the engagement party as a perfectly good excuse to see him again.

Porthos booked his party for three weeks after Clem called him back. He wanted seating for twenty-five people, and food and drinks for all, but other than that and a budget, he didn’t have any preferences. So Constance and Clem put their heads together to prepare something special for Constance’s friend. They went for mainly vegetarian or fish _hors d’oeuvres_ , with sandwiches and savoury pastries for something more substantial, and wine, beer, and lots of non-alcoholic drinks to make sure everyone had the option not to get drunk. Sylvie made some suggestions for table decorations, and Aramis put together a playlist for the evening. They would leave plenty of room for dancing.

Constance planned to be there as maitre d’, letting Clem and Serge manage the backend, with Marie and Jeannette waiting on the tables. They wouldn’t make a centime on the event—in fact, a small loss, which Constance had no trouble justifying—but the goodwill was worth it. Beside, Porthos and d’Artagnan were so adorable together, and this way she could share in their happiness. She could do with something fun to do.

Sylvie was first to arrive. She kissed Constance’s cheek and said, “Aramis is just leaving work. He let d’Artagnan go on time.”

“That’s nice of him. Come in, have a drink.”

Then there was a rush of ten people, all cops who’d finished their shift and travelled from Paris together, followed a minute later by Porthos and d’Artagnan arm in arm. After accepting a kiss from each of them, and welcoming them, she noticed someone was missing. “Where’s Athos?”

“Uh, not coming,” Porthos said. “Parties stress him out.”

But it’s your _engagement_ party, she nearly blurted out. She refrained because it would be rude, and gave no sign of being surprised by Athos’s decision. But when Aramis arrived, apologising for being late, she drew him aside. “Did you know Athos isn’t coming?”

He did a little double-take. “Ah. No? Must have his reasons, I suppose. Let me get the music started, darling.”

He hooked up his iPod to the speakers, and a lively song in Spanish began to play. Porthos stepped into the dance area and held his hand out for d’Artagnan, who joined him to the sound of wolf whistles and cheers. Aramis took hold of the microphone. “Let’s hear it for our happy couple, guys.”

Ignoring the applause, eyes only for each other, the two men tangoed around the floor, joined shortly afterwards by other couples.

Constance mingled, making sure everyone had enough food and drink, helping clear dirty plates, talking to the people she knew and being introduced to those she didn’t. Porthos invited her to dance, so did d’Artagnan, and Aramis also offered his arm. “You’ve put on a wonderful party,” he said as they salsa’d.

“Thanks. Shame Athos is missing it. I mean, Porthos is his best friend.”

A shadow passed quickly over Aramis’s expression. “Athos is still finding his feet after the shooting and everything else. He misses out on things. He knows this.”

“But these are all people he knows. People he works with. It’s not me, is it?” she added half as a joke, but when Aramis’s eyes widened a little, she stopped dancing. “It’s me? He’s avoiding me?”

He led her away from the dancing, over to a quiet corner. “I don’t know, love. I haven’t spoken to him. But it’s possible he’s having trouble—”

“Dealing with me? Because of Jacques? Aramis, what aren’t you saying?”

“I don’t think I should be the one to say. He’ll be around soon and you can ask him, okay?”

“Aramis.”

“Oh, I see Sylvie is looking for me. Excuse me?”

He scurried off, Constance glaring at his cowardly back. What the hell was her friend up to? And what was Athos’s problem with her? Had she upset him with something she’d said after Jacques died? Or had someone said something at the funeral? Surely he didn’t blame her for Jacques’s mother.

She went over to speak to Clem. “I need to make a phone call. Can you hold things down for a few minutes?”

“Go, go. I already told you I can handle this just fine.”

Constance smiled, then rushed up to her apartment. She dialled Athos’s number as soon as she closed the door behind her.

“Constance? Is something the matter?”

“Yes, there is. You’re missing out on your mate’s birthday party because you’re avoiding me.”

Complete silence met her remark, and she wondered if the connection had dropped. “Athos?”

“Constance, I.... It’s not you.”

“Then what is it? Don’t tell me you’re too shy to spend a couple of hours with people you already work with.”

“It’s not that...I’m tired, that’s all.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not...I haven’t been sleeping.”

Her irritation transmuted into concern. “Are you unwell? Can I help?”

“No, no. I’ll come along for an hour. Is that all right?”

“Of course! But if you’re not well....”

“I’m fine. See you shortly.”

 _Bugger._ Now she felt like a bully. It was obvious the last thing Athos wanted to do was come out tonight. But if she could see him, she might be able to find out what was causing his insomnia. Maybe Aramis hadn’t wanted to talk to her about a medical issue.

Oh God, what if Athos was really sick? Was that what Aramis couldn’t tell her?

She ran back downstairs and went searching for the man. She found him loading a plate. “Is Athos seriously ill?”

He nearly dropped the food in shock. “What on earth makes you think that?”

“I just called him. He said he hasn’t been sleeping, but he wouldn’t tell me why. And you’re being so secretive. So is he?”

“Not as far as I know. I didn’t know he had any problem with sleep.”

“Then what’s going on?”

He found a place to set the plate down. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

“Out back then.”

They stepped outside into the chilly night air. “Be quick or I’ll freeze,” she warned. She wasn’t wearing a coat.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “My darling Constance, it’s quite simple. Athos is keeping his distance from you because you’re a recently widowed woman and he’s an honourable man.”

She frowned. “What?”

“He doesn’t want to push you while you’re still in mourning.”

“Push me to do what?”

“My darling, are you always this slow when it comes to romance?”

“Rom—” She put her hands over her mouth. “Athos?”

“We think so. Mind you, none of us have actually _asked_ him.”

“Oh my God. I basically just forced him to come to the party. What will he think of me?”

“The same as always—very highly. Athos adores you. Surely you know that.”

“But as a friend, right?” Aramis lifted an eyebrow. “Oh God.”

“If you don’t return his feelings, you don’t have to do anything. He would never—”

“But I do!”

Aramis frowned in confusion, but then he grinned. “Well then. Tell him.”

“I can’t! He’ll think I’m horrible. Jacques only died a few weeks ago.”

“Constance, you didn’t love him, and he abused you. No one would judge you for seeking a better man than Jacques could ever have been.”

“I can’t...I don’t know what to say to him.”

Aramis sighed, though he looked amused. “I’m afraid my love for you falls short of offering to write love letters in your name to him.”

“What?”

“I am no Cyrano de Bergerac.”

“I need to go back inside. I need to talk to him!”

She raced back into the café, his “That’s what I _said_ ,” following her.

There he was. Athos was looking around for something, someone, and then his eyes met hers. In that moment, she realised Aramis was quite right in his guess, and his feelings were as strong as she now had to admit her own were.

She walked over to him, uncaring of anyone or anything else in the room. “Athos?” She held out her hands. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He took her hands. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said quietly.

“I think we should talk.”

His eyes looked hunted. “I’m not sure.”

“I’m sure. Look at me.” He stared into her eyes. “I _missed_ you. I missed _you._ Do you understand?” she said, squeezing his hands.

“You missed me?”

“All the time. Every day. Every night. Please stay and talk to me.”

He smiled warily. “Now?”

“Tonight. You’re off tomorrow, right?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come over to yours?”

He let her pull him closer. “Yes, please,” he whispered against her ear.

“Give me half an hour. Go talk to your friends.”

Her heart racing, she forced herself to circulate one more time, to be calm and friendly. She caught Aramis watching her, and he gave her a grin and a thumb’s up. She didn’t dare talk to him. She was sure she would babble like an excited child at Xmas.

She walked over to speak to her manager, who was collecting dirty glasses. “Clem, I have somewhere to be this evening. Are you all right to finish up?”

“We’re fine. Do you have a date?”

“Just visiting a friend,” she said, but her grin gave her away.

“Good for you,” Clem said, grinning back. “Enjoy yourself, you deserve it.”

“Thanks.”

Back upstairs, she packed a few things into her handbag, checked her face was clean, then went back to the café. The party was winding down, and she found Athos talking to d’Artagnan. Athos gave her a shy smile as she joined him, putting her arm through his. “Sorry, d’Artagnan, I’m stealing him.”

D’Artagnan pouted prettily, “He only just got here.”

“And now he’s leaving. Congratulations again, darling.” She kissed his cheek. “You both found a winner.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “Maybe I’m not the only one.”

She felt Athos go rigid. “Don’t be a brat. Go find your sweetheart, and come for dinner soon, okay?”

Athos guided her out of the café with surprising grace. He probably had a lot of practice making discreet exits from social occasions. “Is this all right for you?” she asked.

He turned his head and smiled. “It’s perfect.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “Then let’s go.”

They walked arm in arm down the street, and around the corner to the next, where Athos’s building was. She made him stop and faced him. “Wait. I just want to be sure we’re talking about the same thing. I mean...I’m not just talking about talking.”

He went completely still, and she realised what Aramis said was true. He would never make the first move for fear of pushing her. So it was up to her. She cupped his face in her hands, and gently kissed him.

His arms went around her, and he deepened the kiss, though he kept it perfectly respectful. Her body moulded against his, like he was made for her to hold and to be held. There was nothing else in the world except his lips, his eyes, his hands on her back, and his heart beating hard in his chest against hers.

But then he gently pushed her away. “Constance...I’m not good for you.”

“I’m tired of being good, Athos. I’m tired of other people making decisions for me. This time, I’m doing what I want.”

“But you don’t know everything about me.”

She stroked his face. “No. But I know enough that I want to know more. So...shall we be brave together?”

************************

Nothing about this evening was going how Athos had planned it. But though he’d convinced himself in advance that giving into his desire for Constance was a terribly bad idea, he couldn’t summon the willpower to tell her to stop and go away. He let himself be swept along by her enthusiasm, her kindness, and when he found himself in his own living room, arms around her and kissing her like the world would come to an end, the reasons he had given himself for not doing this were like the memories of a dream on waking, faint echoes he could no longer grasp.

“I have been thinking of this for weeks,” she murmured. “Even at the funeral. Is that awful of me?”

“You could never be awful,” he said, his hands rubbing up and down her back.

“What do you want tonight?”

“Nothing.” She pulled back to look at him. “And everything. You design much good than me.” He frowned. That didn’t sound right, but the word had slipped out of his grip.

She paused, worked it out, then smiled. “I deserve exactly what I want to deserve, and I want _you_.”

“I’m old, divorced—”

“You’re not old. And I’d be divorced sooner or later if he’d lived. Do you want me, Athos?”

“God yes,” he groaned, hiding his face against her neck. “Forever and completely. I'm a greedy man.”

“Be greedy. Be hungry. It’s been too long since someone wanted me that much.”

“Then he was more of a fool than I realised.” Athos took her hand and led her to the bedroom. “Is this—”

“Perfect. Undress me.”

First, he kissed her, still amazed he was allowed to. Then he unzipped her dress, letting it fall in a puddle at her feet. He cupped her beautiful breasts, still trapped in a lacy bra. “You are exquisite.”

“Oh you.”

“I’m serious. I’m brain damaged, not a virgin.”

She laughed, merry peals that made his heart sing. “I’m counting on that, _monsieur_.”

He unclipped her bra, and when it fell, he put his hands over her warm skin, gently fondling her nipples. She shivered and leaned into his hold, putting her hands around the back of his head and drawing him in for a long, languorous kiss as he continued to fondle her. “I love being touched there,” she whispered.

“You feel so perfect to me, my hands.”

She pulled him over to the bed, still half dressed. “You’re not finished.”

“But I want to touch your breasts. You finish.”

She pouted, but while he kept his hands on her, she shed her tights and knickers, tossing them across the room. Athos smiled at her abandon. “You weren’t under the impression I was a lady, I hope.”

“I’ve had ladies, Constance. I want a woman. I want you.” He laid her down and leaned over her. “I love you. I will always love you, even if this goes nowhere. As a friend, as a lover, I am yours.”

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t talk much, but when you do...oh Athos, I think I love you too. Is that wrong?”

“Because of him?”

“Yes.”

He bent to kiss her breast, then the hollow of her throat. “The heart does what it wishes. No one is harmed by what you feel, only what you do.”

“And does this? Harm, I mean.”

He stared into her eyes. “Not me. Who else?”

“His family?”

“Fuck ‘em.”

She giggled, and he grinned, swallowing her laughs with another kiss.

“You’re still dressed,” she complained.

“I don’t need to be naked.” He licked her left nipple, then nibbled it carefully. She arched. “Mmmm?”

“More. Please.”

If there was one thing being injured had taught him, it was patience, and with the banquet her body provided, he had no intention of rushing. He wanted to taste every square centimetre of her perfect skin. He nibbled her ear lobes, licked her neck, explored the hollow between her breasts, and tongued her nipples to full erectness.

Her hands tangled in his hair, urging him this way or that. He let her guide him, but he worked slowly, never going below her waist, though she pushed into his hand and lifted one knee to give him better access. “Do you want something, Constance?”

“You know I do, you bastard. Stop teasing me.”

“But you’re so beautiful right now. Your skin is all soft and pink. You taste like happiness.”

Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him. “You sound like heaven. I love your voice. I could listen to you all day.”

“With all the wrong words?”

“Every one of them. Please, let me see you naked?” She sat up and undid the buttons of his shirt. He stood and stripped it off, then undid his belt and zip and dropped his jeans. She placed her hand over his erection trapped in his underpants. “May I?”

Athos could hardly breathe. “Please,” he managed to squeak out.

She drew his underwear down slowly, and he stepped out of his jeans and the underpants, letting her look. “I know I’m not much—”

“You be quiet, you gorgeous man. Don’t you dare try to tell me I don’t know what I’m looking at.” She stared up at him. “You’re perfect.”

“Constance, please.”

“Hush.” She held out her hands and when he took them, pulled him down on top of her. “Now you use that beautiful cock and your gorgeous body to make love to me, Athos. Forget everything anyone’s ever said to you, ever happened to you, or to me. It’s just you and me and what we want, right now. Yes?”

He kissed her until they both had to stop to breathe. “Yes. Oh yes.”


	10. Chapter 10

Constance woke to the feel of a warm body wrapped around her back, and for a confusing second, thought it was Jacques. Then she remembered, and smiled. Oh God, Athos was wonderful, in bed and as a man. She rolled into his embrace, stretched a little, feeling pleasantly well used and satisfied. Athos was a generous, talented lover, and she couldn’t understand his wife leaving him in disgust at all.

She felt her earlobe being licked. “Good morning, darling.”

She turned. “Good morning to you, love. How do you feel?”

“Amazed. Grateful. Aroused.”

“What a coincidence.” She shifted to let him enter her from behind and they fucked lazily, slowly. When he was done, she guided his hand to her clit and urged him to make her come, which he did, his fingers skilled and careful.

Afterwards they lay together, curled tightly around each other. “I don’t care what anyone says. This is right for me, and I’m not even a little bit sorry.”

He kissed her forehead. “My love, none of our friends will care. I don’t know what your family will say, and his family will never approve what you do.”

“My mum will be surprised, but happy. I told her what Jacques did. If he hadn’t been dead, she’d have killed him.”

He nuzzled under her jaw, his embrace tightening, as if to comfort her over Jacques’s abuse. But it wasn’t Athos’s fault, and he had done as much as he could to help her.

“Do you have any clues about the killer?”

He sighed. “The motorbike was stolen, and we lost track of him on the CCTV images. It’s still being actively pursued.”

“But you don’t expect to get anywhere.”

“Didn’t say that. But I can’t talk about it more than that. I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand.” She stretched. “I’m starving.”

“I’m out of food.”

She rolled over so she could kiss him. “Then I suspect one of us is taking the other out for breakfast, maybe the one who owns a café?”

He smiled. “Is this your way of announcing developments to your staff?”

“Maybe. Too soon?”

“Do you care?”

“No. I don’t care at all. Do you want the shower first?”

“No, please, go ahead.”

When she came out, she found her discarded clothes laid neatly on the bed for her, next to her handbag. “Did you come trained or did someone have to educate you?”

“My parents are big on good manners.” Something in the way Athos said that made her wonder if he was close to his family or not. She would have to ask.

A brief stop at her apartment allowed to change out of her party frock and into a more decorous blouse and skirt. Decorum was wasted somewhat when Athos insisted on kissing his way down the back of her neck, his hands cupping her breasts under her blouse in clear invitation to get out of it again. “I’m hungry,” she complained, twisting in his arms to face him.

His eyes were bright with mischief. “Food before sex?”

“You’re a menace.” She chucked him under the chin. “I can hear your stomach rumbling too, _monsieur_ , and I have a duty to see you keep your strength up. I’m not finished with you yet.”

“Ah, I understand.” But that didn’t stop him keeping them from going downstairs for another five minutes while they kissed. If she wasn’t starving, she’d have dragged him off to her bedroom to make love again.

Angelique, her new morning manager, grinned to see her with Athos. “Good morning, Constance.”

“Yes, it is, thank you. Angelique, this is my dear friend, Lieutenant Athos de la Fère of the National Police.”

“Please to meet you, _monsieur_. Coffee? Hot chocolate?”

“I think it’s a hot chocolate morning for me,” Constance said, smiling at Athos.

“And for me. With a croissant, if you please.”

They sat in a window seat, warm sun streaming down onto them. “This is the happiest I’ve felt in months. Years, maybe.”

He took her hand. “And for me. No regrets?”

“Not a single one, and if you start up with all the reasons you imagine you’re not worthy of me, Athos, I will do something unladylike.” He smirked. “You don’t believe me?”

“Oh I do. I’m terrified.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Terrified that this is all a beautiful dream and I’m still asleep.”

“You’re not. I’m here, I’m real, and I love you.” He went still, staring at her. “Yes, I do. Even before Jacques died, I think I’d started to.”

“We should take it slowly, Constance. You have been through a very rough patch.”

“No. I’ve been living my life in low gear for too long. Now I want to do everything I thought I couldn’t do. Go back and finish my studies, become a journalist. Use my brain properly. His mother was right—I’m no good at this business—but I’m damned if I’m letting that old bitch have this place. I’m thinking of starting a blog, a political blog. Start stretching my writing and researching wings. What do you think?”

“My dear, what I think shouldn’t matter. Do it, be good at it. Don’t give a damn about my opinion. It’s your life.”

“You’re my friend as well as...you know.”

“As a friend, I say, do what you judge best. It’s _your_ life.”

“But I just wanted to know what you thought.” Athos looked at her steadily, not moving a single muscle in his face. “You’re not going to tell me, are you.” He still didn’t move. “You really are a dick.”

Athos smiled. “No. I’m trying to give you the gift of not attempting to influence your life.”

“Too late. You gave me your little pep talk about choices and so, here I am.”

He laughed and pulled her in for a kiss. For a moment, Constance worried what Angelique might think, before remembering she didn’t give a damn. She let Athos smooch her passionately, unashamedly, and her body thrilled to his touch. “Shall we just sweep everything off the table and go at it here?” she murmured.

“I’m game.”

“Bit rough on the staff.”

“Indeed.”

She sat back, unable to stop grinning at him. “You’re decadent.”

“Says the woman who invited me to have sex on the table.”

“You agreed!”

“So I did.”

They manage to restrain themselves to drink the hot chocolate Marie brought over for them, as well as some toast for her and a croissant for him. “Did you have plans for today?” Constance asked him.

“Groceries. Exercise.”

“For your leg?”

“For my entire right side. I have a specific set of exercises designed to strengthen my control over that, as well to strengthen both sides of my body.”

She leaned on her hand. “Tell me about it. What happened, and how did it affect you?”

“It’s all in the past now.”

“I want to know everything about you.”

“No, you don’t.”

His expression closed in, not like the deliberate no reaction of before, but more like he had dropped the shutters down to keep the world away. “I do,” she said, moving her chair closer to him. “Is this about your wife? You think I blame you because she was unfaithful and unkind?”

She couldn’t get through, and maybe their relationship was too new and too fragile to keep trying. “I won’t push, darling. But I want to give you _this_ gift. Nothing about you will ever disgust or disappoint me, and I will not walk away from you because of anything you have done or not done. I know you’re a good man. Nothing will change my mind on that.”

He kissed her hand. “You are too lovely.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, then Constance remembered she’d turned her phone off. “Better just check if anyone’s trying to contact me.”

Up on her screen, a dozen messages appeared from Aramis and Sylvie, all demanding to know what was going on, and telling her “good work” for making a move at last on Athos. She showed him and he grinned. “Better check mine.”

His phone’s screen was nearly a duplicate of hers, except his had a couple of messages from Porthos as well, saying the same as the other two friends. “Let ‘em sweat,” Constance said, shoving her phone back in her handbag. “I have a few things to do as well. When would you like to meet up again? For lunch? Dinner?”

“Dinner. My place? I’ll cook.”

“You cook.”

“Of course I do. Nothing amazing.”

“He cooks, he makes love like a god, and his smile is sunshine in my heart.” She looked up to the ceiling and folded her hands. “God, thank you for sending me this man.”

He rolled his eyes. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

“I am not, Athos de la Fère. I would never do that to you. I meant every word.”

“Wait until you taste my cooking.”

“It’ll be fine. Are you okay? Sorry I was so insensitive.”

“You were not. But I’ll let you go now. Come over when you’re ready, as early as you like.”

“Is that an invitation to come over and have sex before dinner?”

His lips twitched in amusement. “A standing invitation.” He stood, then bent down and kissed her slow and gently. “See you soon.”

Angelique came over as soon as Athos walked out of the café. “He’s gorgeous.”

“Isn’t he,” Constance said with a sigh. “Right, I need to do some work now because I have a hot date with Lieutenant Lovely tonight.”

“Lucky you.”

“Aren’t I just?”

************************

Sylvie took Constance’s call as she was on her way back to the office from an interview with a local business leader. “And?” Sylvie said, without any preamble.

“And, he’s wonderful. In bed and out. Am I horrible for not waiting?”

“No! I’m so pleased for you! Aramis was beside himself when he told me you two had left together.”

“It’s all his fault, of course. Sylvie, he really is lovely.”

“Yes, he is, and so are you, so Aramis and I are happy for you both.”

“We're going to take things slow.”

“Oh, so you waited to sleep with him then.”

“Meow. Of course I didn’t. I haven’t had sex in months.”

“Years for him, I’d bet. You’ll be careful with him, won’t you? I love you both, but he was so badly hurt by his wife.”

“Yeah, I got that. He can’t even talk about it. I will so slap her if I come across her.”

“You and me both, darling. So, when do you see him again?”

“Tonight. His place. I don’t think I’m ready for him to be in the bed I shared with Jacques.”

“Buy a new one. Don’t let him haunt you.”

“I won’t. But I’m not going to tell his mother any time soon.”

“Don’t bother. She obviously doesn’t care a bit about you. But tell _your_ mum.”

“Yeah, but not now. I don’t want to jinx it.”

“You won’t. This is perfect. Porthos and d’Artagnan, now you and Athos. All my dearest friends together and in love.”

“If any of us break up, it’ll be awkward.”

“Hush. It won’t happen. Did Athos tell you they’ve set the date for the appeal? September. I’ll be a mess until then.”

“Try not to think about it. There’s nothing you can do anyway, so just get on with your life and making babies with Aramis.”

Sylvie grinned. “Sounds like a great idea. Oops, we’re here. Gotta go, my love.”

“Talk soon.”

Sylvie sent a text to her husband when she got back to her desk. _Constance/Athos project is a go_

AramisDH: _Fingers crossed for success_

SylvieDHBoden: _She’s totally smitten. So happy for them_

AramisDH: _We are the best matchmakers *ever*_

SylvieDHBoden: _Yes we are and I love that we are_

************************

Porthos met Athos as usual at the train station after their day off. “Is that a smile? A spontaneous smile? Is that the smile of a man who’s been laid? The smile of someone who can’t be bothered responding to my texts?”

His friend turned a scowl on him. “I have not been ‘laid’, Porthos.”

“Oh.”

“Constance and I...are together.”

Porthos slapped Athos on the shoulder. “Good on you. She’s a lovely girl, and you’re perfect for her.”

“Hardly perfect.”

“Nah, you’re not fooling me. Besides, Aramis already talked to Constance. She’s head over heels for you.”

“Ah. It’s mutual.”

“There’s that smile again. You can’t fool me, Athos. You are happy and satisfied. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I intend to. How’s d’Artagnan?”

“Perfect.”

“Apparently we are surrounded by perfection.”

Porthos laughed. “That we are, my friend. That we are.”

Anyone who didn’t know Athos, would probably not recognise the change in him. But Porthos knew him like the brother he never had, and every time Athos smiled a little, tilted his head with a knowing look on his lips, or he looked sideways at someone saying something he found amusing or ridiculous, Porthos understood that his friend was happier than at any time since before the shooting injury. Knowing how hard Athos had worked to come back to work, to overcome the devastating effect his wife’s desertion had had on him, Porthos cheered on every single grin, every little smirk.

He sent d’Artagnan a movie he’d recorded, and his fiancé texted him back at lunchtime. _Is that Athos...laughing?!!!_

PorthosDV: _It is. Amazing, right?_

D’Artagnan: _Hang on, I’ll just check outside. Nope, no flying pigs_

PorthosDV: _Cheeky. He’s in love_

D’Artagnan: _Good for him, and for Constance. I wish them all the best. Did you get your leave approved for A’s wedding?_

PorthosDV: _Yeah, boss signed off this morning for me and Athos. We’re going to Madrid, olé!_

D’Artagnan: _Wish it was our wedding_

PorthosDV: _Want to make it a twofer? Not sure Samara can make it then_

D’Artagnan: _Nah, Maman would kill me. Has to be in Lupiac, sorry. We can still get married soon_

PorthosDV: _How about after Easter? Start the paperwork now?_

D’Artagnan: _I’ll pick up the forms on my way home, ok?_

PorthosDV: _Perfect. Love you 3 >_

D’Artagnan: _me 2, always xxxxxxx_

Porthos looked up and over to his partner. “You busy after Easter?”

“I might take the yacht to Naples.”

“Ha ha. Me and the boy are thinking about getting married quick, before we go to Aramis and Sylvie’s thing in Spain.”

Athos smiled. “Congratulations. Pick a diary, I’ll be there.”

“I’ll let you know the date, sure. You might want to _bring_ a date too.” He waggled his eyebrows. Athos rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he was still smiling. Damn he was cute when he was in love. But then, who wasn’t?

************************

Constance had never been to Spain—or anywhere outside France, actually—and had little idea what to expect. Athos, who had been there before, both with Aramis and without him, guided her through the airport behind Porthos and d’Artagnan, and translated any of the signs he caught her peering at. “How much Spanish do you actually speak?” she asked. His Spanish was as seductive as his French, and made her feel things in her lady bits.

“Not much. I did it in high school, along with English. It’s useful when Aramis swears.”

“I’d rather not know, to be honest. You said there’s a transfer bus to our hotel?”

The four of them were staying in a nice hotel for four nights, Athos’s wedding gift to Porthos and d’Artagnan, and just a treat for Constance, he’d said. Apart from the wedding, Athos had planned for the two of them to do some sightseeing. Porthos and d’Artagnan were welcome to come too, but Constance suspected the newlyweds would spend a lot of their mini-honeymoon in their room.

“Porthos is very interested in art,” Athos had said when she mentioned this.

“Porthos is very interested in _d’Art_ agnan, you mean.”

Athos had grinned. “That’s a terrible joke, and very true.”

But their first full day would be taken up with the exchange of vows in a Catholic mass in the morning, then a day long party hosted by Aramis’s huge family. Sylvie had no family representatives on her side, so she’d been delighted Constance had agreed to act as her chief bridesmaid and shore up support for the ‘opposition’.

“I thought they adored you.”

“They do, but they’re all so...Spanish, even if his father is as French as you are. Aramis becomes so handwavy when he’s been around them.”

Constance had hugged her. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. Do you want me to ask Athos for a loan of his gun?”

Sylvie pretended to consider this, before bursting into peals of laughter. “Can you imagine their faces?”

Constance was still a Catholic, although a bad one, and d’Artagnan tried to get to mass every week. Athos and Porthos were avowed atheists, but promised to behave nicely in the church. “Aramis would be narked if we weren’t,” Porthos had explained on the flight.

“I should say so. Not to mention his family.”

“We will be nodals of propriety,” Athos said.

“Models of something,” Constance, now fluent in Athos, muttered.

She had been tremendously relieved that being a bridesmaid had not meant she had to wear some hideous dress of Sylvie’s choosing. Sylvie was to be dressed in a simple, cream silk frock, and Constance could wear whatever she felt was dressy enough. She’d bought a new outfit, a light blue skirt and short sleeved blazer which Athos had liked, and he was going to wear the same posh suit he’d worn to their marriage. Constance was secretly hoping Porthos or someone would take lots of photos of them dressed up together, so she had something to send to her mother. Athos had spent Easter with Constance’s family, and her mother had been very taken with her new man. Jacques’s name wasn’t mentioned _once_.

They checked into the Gran Melia Palacio de Los Duques hotel at five. “Athos, this is amazing,” Constance whispered as they walked through the lobby. Porthos was impressed, though d’Artagnan swaggered through it all as if this was merely all he would expect.

“The reviews were good. And it has a pool.”

“You are a wonderful boyfriend and I love you,” she said, kissing his cheek.

“Oy, save it for the room,” Porthos grumbled. Athos made a gesture behind his back, and d’Artagnan laughed. Constance could guess what it was.

Athos opened the door for her. “Your chamber, madame.”

Constance walked in. “Oh my God. Athos! This is beautiful!” She rushed to the window. “Look at the views! That’s the palace, right?”

“I think so. You didn’t even look at the bed.”

She turned. “Oh. It’s so big.”

“Talking about the bed or....”

She shook her head at him, then kissed him. “Boaster. Thank you. This is gorgeous. Are you sure—?”

He put a finger over her lip. “Yes. You are not to think about the money this weekend, but I have not been reckless.”

She relaxed. “Oh good. I mean, it’s your money but I’d hate you to do something silly to impress me.” He looked at her. “I know. Not your style.”

“No. But getting you undressed and into that bed is.”

“And a swim? Do we have time for both?”

He grinned at her enthusiasm. “If I said no, which would you pick?” She bit her lip. She loved Athos to bits, but a swim in a rooftop pool overlooking Madrid on such a hot day sounded magical. “That’s what I thought. Swimming costume, then?”

“And then sex. You don’t mind?”

“You can have sex with me anytime. You can only swim in this pool these four days.”

She smiled at him, secretly relieved. Jacques would not have taken her choice so calmly, she suspected. Athos’s ego seemed to be either incapable of being hurt, or non-existent.

After a swim, a lovely long session of making love on the massive bed, a stroll and then supper in the Plaza Mayor with Porthos and d’Artagnan, Constance slept more soundly than she had in months. And better than that, didn’t dream once about Jacques, or Athos being murdered, or any of the other horrible nightmares that plagued sometimes.

When she woke, she lay quietly and watched Athos sleep, his face relaxed with the smallest of smiles gracing his scarred upper lip. She loved that scar. To her, it symbolised him. An injury beyond his control that could have disfigured him, but instead gave him character and his face a certain beauty that more classical features, such as Aramis’s, did not have. Like the cleft lip, the brain injury could have destroyed him and left him helpless and bitter, especially with his wife leaving him over it, but Athos had turned it into a reason to fight, to reclaim his life, and become an even better man and police officer than before.

His green eyes opened quite suddenly and met hers staring back. “Are you watching me sleep?”

“Mmmm.”

“Why?”

“Because I can, silly.” She leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Want to sleep some more?”

He put his arm over her waist, tugging her towards him so fast she squeaked in surprise. “No. I want to make love to you.” He dived under the blankets and was between Constance’s legs before she could reply. She lay back and let him pleasure her. Only a fool would interrupt a master at his work.

She was to go to Aramis’s parents’ house. Athos and d’Artagnan would make their way direct to the church. She made sure the boutonnière she’d brought from home was properly fixed on Athos’s coat, then kissed him. “Camera?”

He touched his coat. “Pocket.”

“Love you.”

He patted his chest. “Heart.”

“Good. See you in an hour, darling.”

“Nice beds in that hotel,” Porthos remarked to her as the taxi sped away.

“I’m sure you tried yours out thoroughly.”

“Might have done. So did you by the look on _monsieur_ ’s face.”

“Might have done,” she mimicked. “I think I’m spoiled for going home.”

“Nah. After four days, you’ll be desperate to go back, you wait and see.”

She very much doubted _that_.

Constance was seized by d’Herblay women as soon as she exited the taxi, and dragged upstairs to have her hair tweaked and adorned with flowers in one of the bedrooms. Sylvie appear twenty minutes later, almost unrecognisable as the stern, sensible reporter Constance had known for years. “You look stunning, darling,” Constance said.

“Thank you. It’s not too much?” She gestured at her upswept hairdo and the crown of roses in it.

“It’s perfect and I’m proud of you.”

Sylvie flushed. “Thanks. I, um, have something for you.” She went to a set of drawers and pulled out a little box, which she handed over. “It’s not much.”

Constance opened the box and found a little rose lapel pin of a rose made from gold and enamel. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” She kissed Sylvie carefully on one cheek. “A perfect souvenir.”

“Here, let me.” Sylvie pinned it onto Constance’s blazer. “There.” She looked at the two of them in the mirror. “Practically sisters-in-law.”

“One day, I hope. Where’s Aramis?”

“At a friend’s. He’s terribly superstitious and wouldn’t let me see him the night before. Ridiculous. We’ve been living together for years, and we’re already married!”

“Oh, let him have his little customs. He just wants to make sure you have the best married life ever.”

“I already do. We should go downstairs.”

Porthos had already departed for Aramis’s destination, and the car to take Sylvie, Constance and Aramis’s youngest sister was waiting. “Ready?” Constance asked her friend.

“Absolutely. Let’s do this.”

************************

Constance couldn’t help it. She cried. So did Aramis’s mother and sisters, and even Porthos looked a bit misty-eyed. But Constance defied anyone to listen to the exchange of vows and not become emotional. It wasn’t Aramis and Sylvie promising to love and support each other through sickness and in health that made people sniffly, but Aramis dropping to one knee after that, and resting his head on her stomach. “And to our child within you, I pledge to be your father, your protector, your guide, and forever at your back, at your mother’s side, our hands on your shoulders, as we watch you become the best person you can possibly be.”

Aramis’s mother gasped, then burst into tears. Athos smiled so widely his face looked ready to split. And Sylvie, looking down at her beloved and his face resting on where her unborn child lay, was wreathed in smiles, so proud and loving. Constance had to restrain herself from running over to the altar to hug them all for being so adorable.

Hugs there were aplenty after the mass ended, and Constance wept for happiness on Sylvie’s shoulder, and a little for the little boy she’d lost, who would be six now, and who would have been a wonderful older brother to Sylvie’s child. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us before,” she scolded when she could speak.

“It was hard keeping the secret, but Aramis wanted all the family to find out at the same time.”

Athos approached them, and asking Constance’s permission with a raised eyebrow, took her place and hugged Sylvie and swung her around. “My darling girl.”

“Thank you. Thank you all. I’m so happy, I’m afraid I might die.”

“Please don’t,” Athos said, deadpan. She whacked him with her bouquet.

The wedding reception—or rather, party—was a riot of music and dancing and much drinking. Constance had a glass of champagne to toast Aramis and Sylvie, but then slipped away with Athos to a quieter part of the garden where he could sip sparkling water and not have to make excuses about not drinking wine.

“Glad you came?” she asked. Athos’s aversion to parties and social occasions was quite real.

“Very. It was lovely beyond compare. Are you all right? I mean, with Sylvie being pregnant.”

She held his arm tight. “Yeah, of course. I mean...there will always be that sadness inside me but I would never begrudge someone else that happiness.” She rubbed her eyes and then smiled. “Can you imagine how handsome the baby will be?”

“How spoiled, you mean. Aramis can’t say no to the ones he loves.”

“Good job Sylvie’s sensible then.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I understand what she meant. I mean, when you’re this happy, it makes you scared something will come along and destroy it.”

He rested his chin on her head, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You can survive it, and be happy again. You know this. I know this.”

“I’m so glad, love. You deserve it.”

“I, uh, bought you something.”

“A gift? Why?”

He fumbled in his coat pocket and drew out a box. “Because it’s traditional.”

She sat up, took the box, and opened it. Inside sat a ring with a red stone—a ruby, she guessed, because it was her favourite gem. “Athos?”

“Constance, will you marry me? I mean...eventually?”

She took his face in her hands, and kissed him. “Yes. As soon as you want, or as far away as you want. I love you.”

Athos took her in his arms so he could lay her back and kiss her properly. She stared into his beautiful eyes and wondered if she could, in fact, die of happiness.

“Oy, hotel room I said.”

Constance rolled her eyes. “Did you bring your gun? Can you shoot him for me?”

“Sadly no.” Athos sat up and brought her with him, then turned to glare at a grinning Porthos and d’Artagnan. “A little privacy, please.”

“That’s what we were looking for.”

“Too bad,” Constance said. Unabashed, the two intruders came over and sat on the other bench. “Are you just going to sit there and watch?”

“Yup,” d’Artagnan said.

“You need a smack,” she said.

“Told you, that’s for the hotel room,” Porthos said, his grin even wider now.

Constance shook her head. “I’m unshockable, I’ll have you know.”

“Do not take that as a challenge,” Athos warned as d’Artagnan opened his mouth. “Constance, we should go in and be sociable.” He said it the way he might have said “have a dental checkup,” and with as much enthusiasm.

“Aramis and Sylvie already left,” Porthos said. “So we were thinking of buggering off too, in a bit.”

“Can we share a taxi?” she asked. It had been a lovely day, but it was now four o’clock and she was partied out.

“Sure. Though they’re having some kind of spit roast thing later. Lots of beer too.”

Athos made a face. “Not for me.”

“Yeah, me neither. I fancy seeing some more of Madrid before we go back, right, d’Artagnan?”

“He has a list,” d’Artagnan confided.

“What has that got to do with sightseeing?” Athos asked, then grinned at d’Artagnan’s face.

“I warned you, babe. He’s quiet but deadly.” Porthos hauled his husband up to his feet. “I’ll call the taxi now, and call you when it’s here, okay?”

“Thanks,” Constance said. She waited until they were alone. “Now, where were we?”

“You unwisely agreed to marry me.”

“Oh yes. And not unwisely at all, you goof.” She kissed him again, then held out her hand. “ _Monsieur_?”

“You’re so sure it’ll fit.”

“I trust you.” And she did. Because if Athos hadn’t researched her finger size a dozen different ways and roped Sylvie and Clem into helping him, she didn’t know him at all.

It fit perfectly. “I’m marrying a genius,” she said, sounding as smug as she felt.

He stroked her hair. “I am marrying kindness incarnate. Who’s also incredibly smart,” he quickly added as if he was afraid he might have insulted her.

She leaned into his hand. “Admit it, we’re completely crazy for each other.”

He grinned. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”


	11. Chapter 11

They told no one of their engagement, because they had no plans to make any great changes in their life this year. Not any _more_ changes, at least. Constance wanted nothing to overshadow Porthos and d’Artagnan’s wedding in August in d’Artagnan’s home town down south. Athos wanted the appeal over the death of Sylvie’s father resolved before they announced anything. And they both wanted Constance’s return to her studies to start smoothly without anything distracting her.

After the disastrous start to the year, Constance could barely believe how wonderful her life was now. She had a lover who treated her so beautifully, a business that was flourishing without her having to spend every waking minute on it, and good friends who were in strong, loving relationships who also liked all her other friends.

The only black spot on her happiness was not knowing why Jacques had died. She had a nagging sense that she had been responsible in some way, and no matter how much Athos tried to assure her that his death was the fault of the killer and no one else’s, she couldn’t be persuaded. Athos was unable to give her any details of the investigation and she knew better than to press. She could be patient, but this issue was a drag on her will to start afresh. She wanted to lay it to rest, along with Jacques.

Still, she _was_ moving on. She started her blog and after two months had attracted a small but loyal readership, and a few links by better known bloggers. Sylvie had tossed her some red meat to follow up, and she and Constance had co-authored two investigative pieces, which raised Constance’s profile, if not her balance. Money wasn’t a worry for now, so she intended to use the time until it _was_ a problem to build up a CV and a reputation. Athos cheered her on, though he steadfastly refused to offer an opinion on anything she’d written. The most he would do was to admit he had read it.

“I’m not so fragile that your criticism make me faint,” she chided. “Or hate you,”

“It’s a risk I refuse to take, and an experience I refuse to put you through. Ask Sylvie if you want brutal honesty.”

“Ugh. Yeah, she’s too good at that.”

“She’s very good at her job.” And that was all he was prepared to say.

Apart from the café and her blog, the thing that kept her the busiest was helping Sylvie with her pregnancy. Fortunately Aramis with his medical training was able to help with practical matters, but without any female relatives to help, Sylvie turned to Constance for advice, and Constance did her best to offer it.

But the closer Sylvie came to the six month mark—the time when Constance had lost her own child—the more difficult it became for Constance to be around her friend. “I’m excited for her, and I can’t wait for the baby to be born,” she told Athos one night when she couldn’t hold it in any more. “But I’m so jealous of her, and so worried something will go wrong. I know I’m going to say the wrong thing, or get upset over something small. I don’t want to abandon her though.”

Athos listened, stroking her hair in a way that never failed to calm her. “Have you spoken to Sylvie about feeling jealous?”

“No, I can’t. What kind of monster would I be?”

“No kind at all.” He kissed her neck. “Sounds normal to me.”

“But I can’t tell her, Athos. I really am happy for her, but it’s just—”

“Feelings over which you have no control. I know. She knows too, I’m sure.”

“Should I talk to her?”

“I could speak to Aramis. He’ll understand.”

“Would you? I’m sorry to be pathetic—”

“You are not.” She relaxed, his steady gaze reassuring her. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“The least I can do. But we _will_ have children.”

“I hope so.” She was still on the pill, because she didn’t want to disrupt the new studies, but she longed to become pregnant by him. “I think about him every day, you know. Not a day’s gone by that I don’t wonder what he would be doing at the age he would be. How he would look, what he would be learning. I think I’ll still be wondering that in twenty years’ time.”

Athos held her close and let her sniffle. Would having another child ease the hurt, or make it worse? And how would she feel when Sylvie’s baby was born?

“Anne couldn’t have children,” he said after a bit. “We tried for a couple of years, but then she went through early menopause.”

“Must have been hard for her,” Constance said, though it was difficult to feel sympathy for someone who’d hurt her Athos so badly.

“It was. Then I was shot. I think...Thomas was her clean start. Her way of dealing with the sorrow of not having children.”

“Right.” But she didn’t give a damn about _Athos_ not having kids, did she? “It wasn’t exactly nice of her though.”

“No. It wasn’t. You feeling a little jealous doesn’t compare.” He rested his chin on her head. “But I’m not angry at her any more. Just sad.”

“You’re entitled to be angry.”

“It’s bad for me.”

“Are you telling me not to be jealous because it’s bad for me?”

“What? No. Different situations. Different people. Your baby _died_ , love. Anne only left me.” He kissed her hair. “I’m not comparing. Just...talking.”

“Okay.” She settled against him again. His voice and touch soothed her more than anything else she’d ever tried, including alcohol. Now if _he’d_ had someone to help him like this through his wife leaving him, maybe he wouldn’t have started drinking. “Do you think Sylvie will attend the appeal hearing?”

“I hope not. I’ll strongly suggest to Aramis she should not. Last time was bad enough.”

“You think it will fail.”

He was silent for a bit, and she wondered if she’d overstepped the mark. “I think,” he said slowly, “nothing will bring her father back, and no result will be enough because of that.”

“She should look forward. Aramis and the baby.”

“Yes. Her life is rich. She can’t mend that loss.”

Constance agreed. “I’m coming with you.”

“Constance, it will be very boring.”

“I’m coming with you and that’s that. Besides, it’ll be interesting to see a real trial.”

“Dull as fuck, you mean.”

“Language.”

She heard him chuckle. “Forgive me, I have a brain injury.”

“That makes you swear? Pull the other one.”

“Worth a try.”

************************

At Georges Marcheaux’s first trial, Athos had been mildly anxious only relating to his lingering speech impediment. His speech had improved somewhat, but now there was the whole “witness is an unreliable alcoholic” thing to fight. The shopkeeper had admitted lying, and had also made some interesting admissions about the visit of one Lucien Grimaud, something the prosecutor was keeping quiet on for now. The prosecution had done a better job of researching the effect of Athos’s injury—not having imagined it would matter the first time around—and could explain his peculiar speech and gait at that time.

All the same, nothing was ever assured in a trial, and Marcheaux’s boyfriend had hired some extremely high powered lawyers to argue his case. To the prosecution’s benefit, the height and build of the man could not be hidden behind well-cut suits, but he looked like a respectable businessman, albeit one with a record of violence and convictions in his youth. Athos would need to be honest and clear and do a better job of testifying than he had the first time, when he had allowed a hostile judge and an aggressive defence lawyer to fluster him, leading to him confusing words and sounding mentally deficient.

So Constance’s company was welcome indeed, though he would never had asked her to come. Aramis had fervently agreed that Sylvie should not attend, but he himself insisted on being her witness. Athos could hardly argue with that, and Aramis was the best person to convey to her what happened that day, good or bad.

Aramis drove them to Versailles where the court of appeal was located, and Athos paid for the parking. It was but a short walk from the parking station to the court, and despite the reason for them being there, it was hard not to enjoy the good weather. Athos held Constance’s hand, letting her affection centre him. He would be fine, he was sure of it now.

As they arrived outside the court building, a woman called his name. He turned, and felt his stomach turn over. “Anne?”

“Athos, I’ve been trying to contact you.” She looked stunning. More beautiful than ever. “How are you?”

“Athos, who is this?” Constance asked, holding him close and glaring at Anne. Aramis had gone to Athos’s other side, ready to protect him.

Anne smiled sweetly, though her green eyes were cold. “I’m his wife, dear.”

“Ex-wife.”

“No, actual wife. Why, did he tell you we were divorced? We’re not.”

Athos felt Constance’s grip loosen, but he couldn’t make himself speak or protest. “What are you doing here, Anne?” Aramis asked.

“I’ve come to speak to Athos. Thomas has left me. He realises I still love you and there’s no future for us.”

Athos clamped his hands over his ears and walked away, his vision clouding and his mind fraying fast. Anne...it couldn't be true. Not after all this time. When he had begged the fates to make it so, when he had finally, _finally_ , settled his feelings over this.

He heard Aramis speaking loudly and firmly, and Anne arguing with him, then nothing.

“Come over here, Athos. Sit down.”

Constance, holding him by the arm, leading him to a bench. He put his head on his knees, feeling as if he was going to be sick. Her hand on the back of his neck was all that stopped him running, screaming, into the distance.

“Do you want some water?”

She helped him up, and offered him her water bottle. He sipped it, still on the verge of vomiting. His temples pounded. What was going on?

“Athos, listen to me. You’re okay. She’s gone. You’re fine. Just breathe slowly.”

He clutched at her arm and stared into her eyes. “I don’t...marry off. Lie.”

“I’m sure. Just breathe for me, love. That’s it. Nice and slow.”

He felt someone settle beside him and he jerked. “It’s me, my friend," Aramis said. "I’ve sent her away. You realise it’s a set up, don’t you? For her to come here, on this day? They’re trying to rattle you.”

His words slowly penetrated, and the fog of panic in Athos’s mind began to dissipate. “I can’t...words gone.”

“You’re fine,” Aramis said as Constance stroked his hand. “Keep breathing. We have plenty of time. Slow and easy. Have some more water.”

It felt like forever before he could sit up and look at them. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Constance said firmly. “Aramis is right. They’re trying to upset you, ruin your testimony. Let’s go in, you can wash your face, and just sit a bit more. We won’t let her near you again. Come on.”

He let them manhandle him into the building, where Aramis took him to the men’s toilets so he could splash water on his face. “Is it true?” Athos asked. “They broke up?”

“I doubt it. She’s been paid to upset you. Nothing she said can be taken on trust. You concentrate on your testimony, and on that lovely lady waiting outside for you.”

“I think...I forgot to divorce her.” Her request had precipitated a breakdown and over the following months, Athos had paid almost no attention to reality. He couldn’t remember filling out any paperwork for a divorce.

Aramis lifted his eyebrows. “If that’s the case, it’s easily fixed. But don’t fret about it. You love Constance, right?”

“Yes.”

“And do you want Anne back?”

Athos took in a deep breath. “No. Not any more.”

“There, simple.” Aramis hugged him. “Now, let’s go back to Constance.”

************************

Staying calm in the face of Athos’s ex...wife...suddenly appearing was one of the hardest things Constance had ever done. Still, she managed it, and smiled at Athos as he reappeared, pale-faced but steady. “There, that’s better. I found out where the appeal is being held, so let’s go. You might want this.” She offered him a bit of chocolate.

He looked at her. “What else do you have in that bag?”

“Clean knickers, notepad, pen, and some cookies. I get hungry, okay?” she said in mock irritation at Aramis’s look.

They found seats outside the courtroom, and Aramis went in search of the legal team to let them know Athos was there. “It’ll be at least an hour before they need you, they said. If you want some coffee...in fact, let me go in search of some.”

Athos paid no attention to his friend’s departure. “Constance, I don’t think I am divorced. I think we started to...then I....”

“Had other things on your mind,” she said calmly, though this news threw her anew. “Let’s not worry about it now, love.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“This is _not_ your fault. You did nothing wrong. Do you still love her?” His hunted look and his silence made her heart sink. “Do you want her back?”

“No.”

“Then everything is fine. How are your words?”

“Better.” He took a breath. “Just need a few more time.”

“You take your time, and I’ll be right here. I’m not going _anywhere._ Do you understand? I’m not leaving because of this.”

His smile was tiny, but there. “Thank you.”

“Have some more chocolate.”

“Maybe your knickers would be better.”

“Dirty old man.”

He grinned, then took some more deep breaths. “I need to call Treville.”

“Why?”

“Perversion of justice. If Aramis is right.”

“Oh. I don’t know why they didn’t just knock you off.”

“Too obvious,” he said as he hit the number on his phone. “Sir, my ex-wife just appeared out of nowhere and offered to come back to me. In Versailles, outside the courthouse. Yes, it is, isn’t it. Thought you ought to know. Thank you. No, I’m fine. Constance and Aramis are here. Thank you. Goodbye.”

“What did he say?” she asked when he hung up.

“‘Now isn’t that a coincidence?’ He’ll chase it up.”

“What a horrible thing to do. I’m glad Sylvie wasn’t here.”

He leaned against her, laying his head on her shoulder. “Me too. I’m glad you were.”

They sat like that until Aramis returned, bearing hot chocolate and brownies for the three of them. “Well, I hope that’s the last excitement for a while,” he said as he sat and distributed the food. “How the hell did they even know about her to rope her into it?”

Athos’s look became guarded. “I can’t say.”

“You mean, you don’t know,” Constance asked, “or that you’re not allowed to say?”

“The latter.”

She frowned. “Why is that such a big secret? Didn't Jacques tell them?” He refused to look at her. She had no idea what could be such a mystery, unless it had something to do with Jacques being....

Something went click in her head. Athos being branded a drunk. Jacques being snide about him over Xmas. Constance blabbing about his drinking and his ex-wife. Jacques maybe passing on that gossip to someone involved with the trial.

Jacques being murdered before that first trial. And now Athos being secretive as he usually was about active investigations.

“Oh.” Her voice sounded faint to her own ears.

Aramis looked across Athos at her. “Are you all right, Constance?”

“I’m f-fine. Just need the loo.” She bolted.

Had Jacques died because of her?

She shut herself inside the stall, sat on the closed toilet lid and hugged herself. What the hell had she done?

************************

Athos rose to go after Constance, but Aramis held him back. “No, let her. It’s a shock for her.”

“No...there’s something else. I think she worked something out we’ve been keeping from her.”

“But you can’t tell me.”

“Sorry.”

Aramis patted Athos’s shoulder. “I understand discretion and rules. How do you feel?”

“Better. Shaky.”

“Panic attacks will do that. First one?”

Athos squinted. “First in a long time. If you two hadn’t been here, their plan would have worked.”

 _Indeed_. As it was, Anne de la Fère’s appearance had upset Constance, thrown Athos for a loop, and sent his own blood pressure sky high. Thank God Sylvie had agreed to stay home. It wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibilities for something like this to bring on a premature birth, and with the two of them so nervous already about her pregnancy, that was the last thing either of them needed to worry about. It was bad enough trying to work out how to present bad news on the appeal, if it went that way.

“Do you have any exercises you want to run through, on the speech side?”

“No. We should keep talking. Maybe in English? That forces me to think.”

“I can do that,” Aramis said in English. “Have you appeared before a jury before?”

“Not in years,” Athos said slowly. Once he had been fluent, but the injury had forced him to relearn much of what he had known before. He now often read in English as a form of training. “Have you given evidence in court?”

“Once. D’Artagnan has more experience.” Just as well Porthos hadn’t been here today. Anne would have had her arse kicked and not at all metaphorically. They continued their oddly formal conversation until Aramis spotted Constance heading their way. “Constance is coming.”

Athos rose as she approached, and took her hands. “Are you all right?”

She looked pale to Aramis, but said, “I’m fine.”

Athos kissed her on the forehead and led her to the seat. “We’ll talk after I give evidence. I promise.”

“Okay.”

Before she could sit down, a court official appeared. “Athos de la Fère?”

“That’s me.” Athos turned to Aramis. “I’m on.”

“Good luck.” Aramis took Constance’s ice-cold hand and followed Athos into the courtroom. It was all or nothing now.

************************

Sylvie had gone to work that day, insisting sitting at home and fretting would be much worse. She’d told Aramis not to call or text and not to come home until he knew the verdict (unless it looked as if the jury would be out overnight). But her concentration was shot, the baby kicked her bladder all morning, and at lunchtime her editor, Hélène, finally told her to just go home and rest. “It’s a big day for you, girl.”

“Sorry.”

Hélène dismissed that with a wave. “You work hard. You’ve earned a little time off. See you tomorrow. Hope you have good news.”

She was too anxious to eat, so when she got home, she lay down, hoping baby would calm down and stop using her bladder like a trampoline. Constance had warned her about this less amusing aspect of pregnancy, but experiencing it was quite another thing.

She had been home little more than an hour when she heard the front door open and close. “I’m home,” she called. “In the bedroom.”

Aramis came to the door and she knew at once he had good news. Tears filled her eyes. “Tell me,” she whispered.

“Convicted of murder, sentenced to twenty years’ imprisonment.”

“Oh God, thank you. Thank you, Athos.” Then she began to weep. It was all she had hoped for, but Dad was still dead.

Aramis sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms. He didn’t attempt to soothe away the tears, as if he knew she had to cry it out. But she never would be able to cry enough to exorcise her sorrow. Not a day went past that she didn’t miss her father like a shard of glass in her heart.

Some time later, he murmured, “Tea?”

“Mmmm. Hungry. No lunch.”

“Now or do you want me to sit with you some more?”

“Now. Sorry.”

He kissed her hair. “Don’t be sorry for grieving, love.”

“Don’t bring it in. I’ll come out. Need to pee anyway.”

“Ah, is our little gosling being a pain?”

“The gosling is going to be evicted early if they don’t knock it off.”

“I’ll have a word with them, shall I?” He put his head on her stomach. “Now, my little one, your mother needs her rest and sanity. Do be good for her, yes?”

“You’re a nut, Aramis.”

He grinned up at her. “You’re only just realising this? Want a hand?” He helped her to her feet.

“Three more months of this? I’m going on strike.”

“Sorry, not an option. But I will spoil you as much as I can to make up for it. Tea and toast coming up.”

Settled on the couch with food and sweet tea, she asked him for the details. Aramis told her about Athos’s wife turning up and trying to upset him before he testified.

“She never. Really? Who paid her?”

“Who do you think? Fèron may have overstepped the mark this time. The police will go after Anne for attempting to subvert a witness and if she can be persuaded to give evidence against him, then we might get him too.”

“That would be amazing, but how is Athos? How did he cope?”

“He had a full blown panic attack, but fortunately Constance was able to talk him through it, and by the time he was called as a witness, he was cool as a cucumber. He was everything you’d want a witness to be, and since they didn’t call that blasted shopkeeper again, he wasn’t cast as a drunk this time.”

“No shopkeeper? Why?”

“Ah, yes. Now I can tell you. It seems that Athos’s wife wasn’t the first attempt to sabotage him. The shopkeeper was threatened into lying by a business partner of Fèron’s, and also of Jacques Bonacieux. Constance mentioned Athos’s drink problem quite innocently, Bonacieux passed it on to the partner, and the partner passed it on to Fèron, apparently.”

Sylvie frowned at her husband. “Jacques worked with Fèron? Oh God, those pills Constance found were for him?”

“I don’t know. It’s all very twisted, and Athos isn’t allowed to talk about a lot of it. But once the shopkeeper was taken out of the picture, there was no reason for the jury to disbelieve Athos. The prosecutor did a much better job this time describing his injury gained in the line of duty, and noting his long career, many acts of bravery and so on. It’s a wonder the Pope didn’t phone in to offer him sainthood.”

Sylvie laughed. “I should call him. I thought you might bring them over.”

Aramis’s expression turned serious. “They had things to sort out. Constance had something on her mind. Not sure what. I’d let them talk before you call him.”

“I’ll text then. I wish Dad could have met Athos while he wasn’t dying. I wish he was still here.”

And there were the damn tears again. There really was no end to them.

************************

Aramis dropped Athos and Constance off outside the café, with Athos saying he would walk from there. They waved goodbye as Aramis drove away, then Athos turned to Constance, who had been withdrawn and silent on the journey home. “Would you like me to come in, or do you want to go for a walk in the park?”

“I think...I think I need a break for a while. From us.”

Athos froze. “Why?”

“It’s not you, it’s me.” She obviously saw from his expression this was not comforting. “Jacques died because of me, didn’t he? Because of what I told you about him?”

Damn her smart brain. “We don’t know. I can’t talk about it.”

“Yes, I know,” she snapped. “But I can work it out and I need time...Athos, I killed him.”

“No, you didn’t. Not in any sense. You are entirely innocent.”

Her eyes were full of tears. “Am I? I don’t feel innocent.”

“But why can’t I help you through this?”

“Because you’re still in love with that bitch and you have a divorce to sort out. If you even want one.”

That stung. “Constance, of course—”

“Just leave me alone for a bit, Athos. I’ll call you when I’m ready. Please.”

She was shaking, crying, and Athos wanted to do nothing less than take her in his arms and protect her. “Are you sure?”

She nodded jerkily. “Yes. Please, just go. I’m sorry.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “I love you.” His voice cracked. “And I do want a divorce.”

“Then...go get one. I will call you. I promise.” He tried to send her his support with his look, but she pulled her hand out of his grasp. “Please?”

“Of course.” He turned on his heel and walked away, hiding his own tears. _Damn Anne. Damn Bonacieux_. Damn his own big mouth.

His phone rang before he arrived back at his apartment, but it was Porthos, not Constance. “Hey, mate, good work.”

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“You and Constance fancy going out with me and the husband to celebrate?” Athos didn’t know what to say. “Athos, you there?”

“Yes. Um, raincheck?”

“Sure. You okay?”

“Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A few minutes later, while he was staring at his fridge and wondering if it was even worth making a meal that evening, Sylvie texted. _Thank you, wonderful man. Heard about Anne. Hope you are okay_

Anne? Anne was nothing. Constance was who was on his mind. _I’m fine_ , he lied. _I’ll call tomorrow_

By tomorrow, Constance would have calmed down. He wished he could talk to her about Bonacieux’s death but it was still an open investigation. But he would get moving on the divorce. He didn’t know how he felt about Anne because his emotions were all tangled up with the breakdown he’d suffered, but one thing he was stone cold sure of. He wanted to be married to Constance, not Anne, and he wouldn’t take Anne back if she came to him on bended knees. He couldn’t go through that again, not for anyone.

Another call, an hour later, from Aramis. “Hey. Is this a bad time? Are you still with Constance?”

Was he? He had no idea. “She...wants a break.”

“Shit. Because of that stinking husband of hers?”

“And Anne. I’ll fix it.” _I have to fix it._ “Is Sylvie all right?”

“She’ll be fine. A few tears, a lot of sadness. We are forever in your debt, my friend.”

“Anyone would have done the same.”

“No, they would not. Do you want company?”

“No. Time to think.”

“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow. Do not wallow, Athos.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Do that. See you soon.”

A text from Constance arrived a few minutes later. _Remember my promise. Have faith in me_

Athos sagged in relief. _Always. I love you_


	12. Chapter 12

“Okay, what the hell happened?”

Athos sighed. As if he had the smallest chance of hiding anything from Porthos. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Porthos shook his head. “Constance.”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“She worked out why Bonacieux was probably murdered. Blames herself.”

“Fuck. That girl is too clever for her own good.”

“Yes.”

“But that doesn’t explain why she’s upset with you.”

Athos looked directly at Porthos. “I do _not_ want to talk about it.”

“Okay, okay. Hope it gets sorted out though. You two are so cute together.”

Athos hoped so too, though for different reasons. He was worried about Constance stewing over something she had no real reason to feel guilty about.

As soon as he arrived at his desk, the captain called him. “Athos, my office. Not you, Porthos.”

Athos walked in and Treville motioned to him to close the door. “Good work yesterday.”

“Thank you.”

“And not just for that case. The magistrate investigating Fèron requested your wife to come in and make a statement. Though what she did wasn’t illegal, we managed to persuade her that covering for Fèron wouldn’t do her any favours, so she agreed. Turns out your brother works for one of Fèron’s friends, and Fèron threatened his job if Anne didn’t cooperate.”

“Only his job?”

Treville raised an eyebrow. “How did you guess? Lucien Grimaud delivered the threat and made it clear that Thomas’s health—and Anne’s—depended on her cooperation. She really didn’t like doing what she did yesterday.”

“Didn’t think so. Not her style.” So it was all a lie. At least Athos didn’t have to worry about her trying to come back into his life. “Sir, Constance worked out that Jacques Bonacieux may have been killed to keep him quiet. I’ve given her no hints, and have refused to discuss it, but—”

“She followed the clues. Damn. And she blames herself or you?”

“Herself.”

“We really can’t talk about it with her, Athos. We don’t even know for sure he was killed for that reason. Charles Lorraine and Gaston d'Orléans claim to be unaware he gave them up to us, but that could be a lie.”

“I know, sir. It’s not her fault even if Fèron did arrange for his killing. We have nothing new?”

“Ah, well, your wife was eager to give us as much information as she could about Fèron’s tactics, and there are some new leads, I believe. By the way, she says you and she are still married?”

“Yes. Something I overlooked.”

Treville shook his head. “Normally I’d wonder how something like that could be overlooked but in your case, I understand. You might want to sort that out, though.”

“I will.”

“Good. I could have a word with Constance if you like? I mean, as a friend. Explain how she couldn’t possibly predict this outcome, that Bonacieux and whoever killed him are much more responsible, and so on.”

“That might help, yes. She didn’t believe me yesterday but she was upset. Over Anne, I mean.”

“I can imagine. And you’re all right?”

“Yes, sir. It was...a shock.”

“But you still convinced the jury, so well done. Okay, that's all I wanted to talk to you about. I’ll call her.”

“Thank you.”

Porthos scowled at Athos when he returned to his desk. “So how come I’m just hearing from Aramis about Anne turning up and trying to fuck you up before the appeal?”

“I had other things on my mind.”

“Mate, you gotta stop doing this. Aramis said you had a panic attack.” Athos dismissed this with a wave to indicate that yes, he had, but he got over it. Porthos actually growled. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. The problem has taken care of itself. The captain is on it.”

“Oh.” Athos gave him a wry look. “Is there where I realise you’re all grown up now and don’t need a nanny?”

Athos grinned. “I don’t actually need to talk, do I.”

Porthos laughed. “Yeah, I guess you don’t. Listen, you interested in coming out for the day on Friday with me and d’Artagnan? We thought we’d head to the Loire Valley, take in the scenery, have lunch and stuff. Could even stay overnight if you’d like.”

The distraction would be welcome. “I’d like that.”

“Great. We’ll pick you up first thing. If Constance wants to come, she’s welcome.”

“Thank you.” Though Athos suspected two days would not be long enough for Constance to adjust to her perceived responsibility. Athos and guilt were old friends, and he was familiar with its grip on one’s mind. He only hoped Constance would cope with it better than he did.

************************

“So, do you understand now? There was nothing wrong in what you did. It was Jacques’s need to ingratiate himself with the people he was working with which may have led to his death. But we don’t know anything for sure.”

Constance bit her lip as Captain Treville stopped speaking. “I understand. But the whole process did start with me.”

“No, it didn’t. It started with him deciding to work for some people he would have been well-advised to avoid. And if he’d been more open with you, you might have been able to tell him that. The architect of Jacques Bonacieux’s misfortunes was Jacques Bonacieux. Not you, not Athos.”

“Athos? I don’t blame him.”

“He, ah, feels guilty that you feel guilty.”

“But it’s not his fault. I just needed time to think. And there was the business of his wife turning up.”

“Yes. That wasn’t an accident as you probably realise.”

“She was paid to do it?”

“Not paid. I can’t discuss it, but trust me, both Athos and his wife are victims in this.”

“God, now I sound like a real bitch.”

“Not to me. You take your time, but don’t punish yourself. Or him.”

“I won’t. It’s very kind of you to call.”

“Not in the least. I’m very grateful for what you’ve done to uncover some nasty operations, and we’re in your debt.”

“No, you’re not. Thank you, captain.”

“Good day, Constance.”

She held the phone for a long time while she thought about what Athos’s boss had said. He was right, of course. Jacques had brought trouble down on himself. But Jacques was dead, and blaming a dead man seemed a bit mean.

On the other hand, punishing her lovely boyfriend for it was a lot meaner. She texted him. _I love you. Sorry for being stupid_

Athos: _You are not stupid, and I love you too_

ConnieB: _Come for supper at the café?_

Athos: _Working late, sorry. Then early start_

ConnieB: _Thought you had the day off_

Athos: _Porthos invited me for day in the country. You’re welcome to come_

ConnieB: _Can’t, darling. I have a pre-semester meeting at the University. You could all come for dinner when you get back instead?_

Athos: _Might be better. Miss you_

ConnieB: _God, me too. So sorry. Your boss is the best_

Athos: Yes. _We don’t tell him in case his head swells_

ConnieB: _:-) See you tomorrow evening? Say hello to P &D for me_

Athos: _Of course. <3_

­­************************

Athos was so relieved to receive Constance’s text that he forgot to mention that he’d made an appointment with a lawyer for Monday to get the divorce under way. He hoped that would please her, to know he was serious. Knowing Anne had no intention of returning to him made him determined to put that part of his life behind him and move on.

He slept well after his late shift, but realised when he got up that he’d forgotten to buy bread and milk for breakfast. He had time to go to the shop even with Porthos promising an eight o’clock start. He had to walk a little further than he used to, since he had no intention of giving the shopkeeper who’d lied about him his custom any more. To be threatened into saying Athos appeared drunk was one thing, but to elaborate by adding that he reeked of whisky was just too much of an insult to overlook.

The shop he now used was another five minutes’ walk further than the other one, but the shopkeeper there was a dear fussy old woman who always seemed delighted to see him. “Ah, Monsieur de la Fère, good morning.”

“Good morning to you, Madame Lacroix. How are you?”

“I’m well, _monsieur_ , except for the arthritis. You’re out early. Going to work?”

“No, a day out with friends.”

“Oh how lovely. Just bread and milk? I have some freshly delivered croissants, if you’d like them.”

“I’m fine, thank you. I hope your arthritis improves.”

“It’s my penance, sadly. Enjoy your good health while you’re still young.”

Athos smiled and bid her good day. Strange to think he had improved so much that his previous disability was pretty invisible these days. Truly, it only troubled him now when he was tired, or ambushed by unfaithful wives.

A man perusing a paper map called to him as he was about to go into his building. “ _Monsieur_ , please, some assistance?”

Athos came over. “What is it—” His words were cut off as someone grabbed him from behind. He dropped his shopping and kicked out at the attacker’s shins. Whoever it was, was bigger and stronger than he was, but Athos was trained in defence, and moreover, he wasn’t going to go without a fight. If nothing else, he would leave forensic evidence or die trying.

He didn’t have to die to do that, in the end. A vicious punch to the face cut the inside of his cheek on a tooth, so he took a delight in spitting bloody saliva all over the front steps of his building. That was the only satisfaction to be had from the unequal battle because all too quickly his assailants overwhelmed him and shoved him into the boot of a black Audi parked nearby. He’d taken more than one punch to the head, so he wasn’t all that with it as the car drove off at speed. Unfortunately, they’d bound his wrists behind him with plastic restraints, so he couldn’t reach his phone or even butt dial it. He had just as little chance of releasing the boot lock. He concentrated on bleeding on the boot’s interior, grimly determined to leave damning evidence even if he didn’t survive this.

He could only guess at who was behind this abduction. He could only hope it was the more stupid of the possible suspects. He tried to calm himself, ready himself to fight again once released from the boot—if he was. And he hoped his partner was as smart as Athos knew him to be.

He estimated he was driven for about fifteen minutes, but that gave him very little information about where his attackers were headed. Did he dare hope they didn’t want him dead? After all, they could have killed him in seconds on the street, or once imprisoned in the boot. Perhaps they just wanted to practice some old school intimidation, although over what, he couldn’t imagine. He just wasn’t that important as an ordinary police officer.

When the car finally pulled up and the engine stopped, he could hear no traffic noise or sound of business or people talking. The boot lid opened, and he recognised an industrial environment from the metal roof. The two men hauled him out of the car, punching him to the ground before he had a chance to use his feet again. “Do behave, _Monsieur_ de la Fère.”

He lifted his head and spat out more bloody saliva. In front of him was a very tall, long-faced man leaning on a cane and beside him stood Lucien Grimaud. “What do you want, Fèron?”

“Oh, so you recognise me. Good. Then I don’t have to explain why I’m so angry with you. You put a man I am very fond of in prison, _monsieur_. This is not acceptable.”

“He killed a harmless elderly man for no reason. His choice.”

“Self-defence.”

“Not as I saw it.”

“And there,” Fèron bit out, coming forward to lean over Athos, “is the rub of it. As _you_ saw it. Your word alone condemned him. Someone has to pay for that, and that someone is you.”

“You realise killing a cop is not going to win you any friends.”

“My friends don’t really care very much about common police officers. And nor should they. You’re all such petty tyrants.”

Athos declined to comment. Better to save his energy to fight.

“So, you’re going to die today, _monsieur_. But since I was forced to watch the man I love dragged off to prison, to lose him, I thought it was only just that you should lose the one you love too.” Athos stiffened. “Oh yes. The lovely Madame Bonacieux. She certainly moved on quickly after her husband’s untimely death, didn’t she? We rather did her a favour then, I think. Not that she’s going to live long enough to enjoy it.” He nodded to Grimaud who slipped away. Athos realised what he was about.

“Kill me if you have to, Fèron, but leave her out of it. She has nothing to do with your grudge against me.”

“Do keep up, _monsieur_. I’ve just explained her connection. You could have taken the easy way out, you realise. I gave you a perfectly good reason to present as a poor witness. You had every opportunity to let Georges get on with his life, but no.”

Athos heard a woman’s voice muffled by some kind of gag, and then he saw Constance being dragged over by Grimaud and another man, his hand over her mouth. “Let her go.”

“Sorry, I can’t do that. Besides, she’s seen all of us now. Ah, do join us, madame.” Constance’s eyes widened when she spotted Athos. She was thrust onto the ground beside him, and Athos leaned towards her to offer a little comfort.

She buried her face in his shoulder. “Athos, I’m sorry.”

“No need,” he murmured.

“How touching. Yes, do be affectionate. Last chance and all that.” Athos glared at Fèron, burning every last detail of his face and his voice into his memory. If nothing else, he could take it to hell with him. “I could just have my _dear_ friend Lucien shoot the lady and let her die while you watched, but we do have other pressing matters to attend to, so he’s devised something rather elegant for you. This old factory hasn’t got much to recommend it but it does have some large holding tanks still connected to a water supply which allows them to be filled remotely. Now, the lady is what, fifteen or so centimetres shorter than you, I think. So if you are both attached to the bottom of one of these convenient tanks, and the tank is filled with water, you can watch her drown before your own demise.”

Constance gasped, and hid her face again. Athos refused to answer Fèron or react to the horrifying description, delivered with such hate and venom, in anyway. He turned his head and rested it on Constance’s. _My love, this wasn’t supposed to happen._

“If you struggle, you’ll only delay the inevitable, and I imagine Lucien’s useful little friends could find ways to amuse themselves hurting Madame Bonacieux as a way of punishing you if you try. I should mention we are well out of Paris and nowhere near your homes. I think the nearest business is about half a kilometre away, so you can shout all you want. No one will hear you.”

Athos remained silent. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“So, shall we begin?” Fèron nodded to Grimaud. His three men grabbed Athos first and dragged him about twenty metres to the edge of a rusting metal container, about ten metres long and two deep, with a sloping end down which he was thrown. Another two men were in place to take hold of him. They pulled him over to a large ring bolt in the floor of the tank, and wrapped chains around his ankles, which were then padlocked to the ring bolt. It was all done with the emotionless efficiency of professionals. Fèron may have arranged this for revenge, but to Grimaud and his thugs, this was just another job.

Whenever his back was out of the line of sight of the men in the tank, Athos worried at the restraints. It was possible, if extremely difficult, to escape from them, but whether that would do him any good, he had no idea. He had nothing to pick a lock with. If he could reach his phone in time, though....

Constance screamed in fright when they threw her down the ramp, but otherwise, was thin-lipped and silent while she was restrained as Athos was. They were close enough to lean on each other, face to face. _All the better to watch her die._

The two men who’d bound them to the tank took ropes thrown down by their confederates, and were helped out of the tank. Fèron’s voice floated down to them. “So it’s ‘adieu’ rather than ‘au revoir’, I fear. I know Georges will find the news of your demise cheering, and without your interference, perhaps a second appeal may succeed. In any event, I believe in cleaning up life’s little mistakes so they don’t trouble me again.”

A moment or two after he stopped speaking, Athos heard water running, and shortly after that, saw it beginning to pool around their feet. “Athos,” Constance whispered.

“I know. Don’t look, my love. Look at me.” He held her gaze as calmly as he could.

“How can someone be so vicious?”

“I don’t know.”

She was obviously trying not to weep, but her eyes filled with tears. Athos kept working at the restraints for want of anything better to do. Their best hope was Porthos, but Athos couldn’t tell her that. He didn’t want to give her false hope. “Tell me a story, love. Tell me the naughtiest thing you did as a child.”

Her voices wobbled as she answered. “So much to choose from.”

“Pick one. Pick the worst. Something you’ve never admitted to anyone.”

“But you might be disappointed in me.”

“I think I’ll cope.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Just lean on me and talk. I love to hear your voice.”

************************

“Not answering his damn phone,” Porthos said. “He keeps putting it on silent.”

D’Artagnan pulled up in a loading zone outside Athos’s building. “Run in and fetch him, then. Just be quick.”

Porthos jumped out and ran inside the building and up the stairs to Athos’s apartment. Knocking produced no answer, and when Porthos used his key, there was no sign of his friend. What the hell? He ran downstairs again. D’Artagnan was on the pavement, his expression serious. “Porthos.” He pointed to the steps and the pavement. “That’s blood. Fresh blood.”

Porthos looked around. “Look.” He went over to the ornamental bushes and pulled out a plastic bag which had been thrown behind them. “That’s someone’s groceries. The milk’s still cold.”

“Athos?”

“Could be. You try his phone again. I’m calling Treville.” He dialled the captain’s direct line. “Sir, I’m outside Athos’s place and there’s signs of a struggle, and he’s nowhere to be seen. He’s due to meet us now.”

“What signs?”

“Blood on the ground, discarded groceries.” D’Artagnan shook his head to signal there was still no reply on Athos’s phone. “And he’s not picking up his phone.”

“Wait there. I’ll call up CCTV, and also see if we can track his phone. I’ll call you back.”

“Yes, sir.” Porthos gritted his teeth. “Try Constance. He might be there,” he said to his husband. “Then try Sylvie and Aramis. I’m going to doorknock, see if anyone saw anything.”

No one was home, which, since it was a week day, didn’t surprise him. “No reply on Constance’s phone,” d’Artagnan advised. “Trying Sylvie now.”

Porthos’s phone rang. “Yes, sir?”

“Right, Antony police have images of a man being forced into the boot of a car about twenty minutes ago.” _Shit,_ Porthos thought. ‘We’re tracking that car registration. I have a location for Athos’s phone. It’s in an industrial area east of Antony. Sending you the coordinates now.”

“On our way. Are you sending police vehicles to that location?”

“On their way. Go, Porthos.”

Porthos jumped into D’Artagnan’s car, and his husband, having already picked up the need to hurry, was already behind the wheel starting the engine. “Up ahead, turn right,” Porthos said. “Step on it. Athos has been kidnapped.”


	13. Chapter 13

The holding tank was filling a lot faster than Athos had hoped and the water was now at Constance’s shoulders. The cold at first had made them both shiver uncontrollably, but now hypothermia had dulled their minds to the point where their bodies no longer reacted to the cold. Constance’s eyes kept closing and though he wished he could see them again clearly before he drowned, it was kinder to let her drift into unconsciousness before the water took her life. He had managed to free his hands at the cost of shredding his wrists, and had unbound Constance’s hands. His attempts to free their ankles had been fruitless—the chains had been wrapped too tightly and efficiently, and he had to wonder if the deliberately amateur use of cheap cable ties on their wrists had been to taunt them, knowing they could still not get free.

His phone no longer vibrated, of course, and would no longer be broadcasting his location, even if Porthos had managed to work out something was wrong. He estimated they had less than ten minutes before the water closed over Constance’s face. They were out of time. The only gift he could give her was his company, his arms around her, and his voice. He remembered a poem he learned at school, one by Victor Hugo. He recited it slowly, from memory.

 _Tomorrow, at dawn, the moment the countryside is whitened,_  
_I will leave. You see, I know that you await me._  
_I will go through the forest, I will go across the mountain._  
_I can no longer remain away from you._

She stirred in his arms. “I love you,” he murmured.

“Athos,” she whispered.

He held her tight. “I’m here. We’ll be all right, my love. Everything will be fine.”

“S’good. Tired....”

“I know.” Tears hot as fire ran down his chilled face.

“Athos?”

“I’m here. I’ll always be here.” _Even unto death, and beyond._

************************

“Can’t you get a more precise location, boss?”

“No. We tracked the car to the last traffic camera, but that’s the best we’ve got. We’re still trying to locate the phone.”

Porthos stared at the industrial wasteland which was the closest location they had for Athos. Other police officers were searching the area too. “Call me if you get anything.” He hung up and looked at d’Artagnan. “We have to check everywhere.”

“Then let’s get started.”

D’Artagnan drove them to one dilapidated factory after another, Porthos getting out and yelling Athos’s name while the two of them searched. “Come on, come on,” Porthos muttered to himself after yet another failed search. Athos might not even still be in this area.

“Next one?” d’Artagnan said.

“Yeah. Athos!”

“Shhh. Porthos, I heard something.”

They both held their breath. Nothing. “Athos, call again!”

This time they both heard it. “He’s in there!” Porthos ran to the building next to the one they’d just searched, d’Artagnan with his long legs already ahead of him. “Athos!”

Athos replied. “Here, Porthos! You’ll need boltcutters!”

“You keep going,” d’Artagnan yelled, already doubling back. “I’ve got a pair in my car.”

Porthos keep running towards Athos’s calls. “Athos! Where are you?”

“Here! Hurry, she’s drowning.”

She? God, was Constance with him? He forced open a rusted door, following the sound of Athos’s voice. He reached a large space with nothing much in it. “Athos?”

“Down here! Hurry!”

Down.... Porthos looked around. All he could see was some old inground tanks. “Where?”

“In a holding tank. Hurry!”

 _Fucking hell, they’re in one of these things._ He ran to the edge of three of them before he found Athos and Constance almost submerged, Athos trying to hold Constance’s face above the water. “The tank’s filling. We’re chained to the bottom. You have to turn the water off!”

 _How?_ Porthos looked everywhere for a control or a valve he could close. He tried everything that looked remotely likely but nothing stopped the water rising.

“Porthos!”

“I’m trying, mate. Hold on.”

“She’s out of time!”

D’Artagnan ran back in, holding the bolt-cutters. Porthos pointed to the tank. “In there. They’re chained to the bottom somehow and the water’s rising. I can’t switch it off.”

Without the slightest hesitation, d’Artagnan kicked off his shoes and dived into the tank. Porthos, still desperately looking for the water control called the emergency services, then he rang Treville to say they’d been found but were still not safe. “I’ll send help.”

“Hurry,” Porthos said. He looked around again. There wasn’t likely to be electricity connected here, so that meant something mechanical. Maybe a fire hydrant or something? “Boss, can you get the mains water shut off to this location?”

“I’ll do my best.”

_Might not be enough though._

************************

D’Artagnan rose for air. “Nearly there,” he said to Athos.

Athos didn’t answer. He had his mouth clamped over Constance’s and was sharing his breathing with her. But her nostrils were already at the waterline.

D’Artagnan dived again. He had no intention of losing either of them. Visibility was shit, so he had to work by feel. He cut three links, then Constance floated free. He swam back up. “Porthos! We need to get her out of here!”

“Coming!”

D’Artagnan assessed Constance. She was breathing, but appeared unconscious. There wasn’t anything he could do for her in the water. He put his arm around her and swam with her to the edge of the tank, where Porthos was standing with a rope. The bottom there was sloped, so by hanging on, d’Artagnan could let his husband haul the two of them up clear of the water. As soon as he had Constance out onto dry land, he turned her on her side and checked her airway. Porthos nudged him aside. “Get Athos out. I can’t stop the water.”

D’Artagnan ran back into the water and swam back to Athos’s position. The man had his eyes closed and didn’t react when d’Artagnan reached him. “I’ll have you free in a minute.”

“Is she alive?” Athos whispered.

“Yes, so don’t give up.” He swam down with strong kicks to the base of the tank, and used the bolt-cutters again. It took more links being cut before Athos was freed, and by the time D’Artagnan resurfaced, Athos was already moving sluggishly towards the ramp. D’Artagnan took his arm and boosted him, dragging him through the water. This time, D’Artagnan had to pull them both up with the rope, but suddenly he found the rope being hauled from above him.

He looked up and saw Porthos, grinning. Before D’Artagnan could protest that he should be at Constance’s side, Porthos said, “She’s awake.”

“Did you hear that, Athos? She’s alive. She’ll be okay.”

Athos’s eyes widened a little but the man was cold, probably hypothermic, and the good news did little to improve his ability to move. It took Porthos and D’Artagnan to drag him up to the edge, where Athos clumsily pushed them away to crawl to Constance’s side.

“I’ve got blankets in the car,” D’Artagnan said, starting to shiver in the slight breeze circulating in the factory ruins. Porthos had laid his jacket over Constance, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

“You stay with them. I’ll get ‘em. SAMU should be here soon.”

D’Artagnan sat by Constance, next to Athos, and tried to lend them some warmth, though he had little to give. Athos didn’t seem to notice he was there. His entire attention was focused on Constance, whose head he’d placed in his lap. Athos stroked her hair and murmured to her, though Constance showed no signs of consciousness. D’Artagnan checked her pulse and pupils. Pupils were normal, pulse a little slow. He tried to check Athos, but the man pushed him away. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

D’Artagnan heard sirens and shortly afterwards, paramedics came running over to them, followed by a SMUR doctor, and three police officers. D’Artagnan waved at them, and when they got to him, indicated Constance, and told them he was a paramedic. “They’ve both been immersed in cold water for some time.”

He moved aside to let them work, and persuaded Athos to do the same. He managed to check the man’s eyes and pulse. Both were okay, though his pulse was fast. Worry over Constance, no doubt. D'Artagnan wanted to do something about Athos's torn up wrists and facial injuries, but Athos wouldn't let him.

Porthos returned with the blankets, and put them around Athos. D’Artagnan declined one. “He needs them more than me. Sit next to him too, keep him warm.”

Porthos grunted in agreement, then stood up to speak to the police officers.

Athos ignored them, his anxious eyes watching the paramedics working on Constance. “Is she all right?”

“What’s your relationship to her, _monsieur_?” the doctor asked

“Her fiancé.”

 _Huh_ , thought D’Artagnan

“Okay. She’ll be fine, but we need to get you both to hospital, warm you up, keep an eye on her for a while. Simon, can you check him, please?”

The paramedic managed to make an impatient Athos submit to an examination, but as soon as Constance was loaded onto a gurney, Athos insisted on following it to the ambulance. Porthos and D’Artagnan could only help him keep up with the others.

Constance was awake by the time they reached the ambulance. “Hey, there, lovely,” Porthos said, grinning at her. “Lousy time of year for a swim.”

“They tried to kill us,” she whispered behind the oxygen mask, tears running down her face. Athos took her hand and soothed her as she was loaded into the ambulance, and then he was helped inside.

“They didn’t succeed. You’ll be fine. Athos, we’ll find you at the hospital. I’ll bring you dry clothes. Just need to get some for this one too.”

For the first time, Athos looked directly at them. “Thank you. You saved our lives.”

“Any time,” D’Artagnan said.

“Yeah, what he said.”

“Porthos, it was Féron and Grimaud. Pass that on.”

“Fuck, okay, will do. Off you go. We’ll see you soon.”

As the ambulance pulled away, Porthos wrapped the now discarded blankets around D’Artagnan’s shoulders, and motioned the police officer in charge over. “Lieutenant de la Fère says the kidnappers were Philippe Fèron and Lucien Grimaud.”

“Okay, we’ll put out an all units request on them. Anything else?”

“Do you need us to hang around?”

“No, you can head off. We’ll need to talk to them once they’re up to it.”

“Captain Treville knows everything I know. We’ll be at the hospital in an hour.”

The cop waved him off, and Porthos led D’Artagnan out of the factory to his car. He started the engine and turned the heat on and up. “You okay?” he asked as he started to drive off.

“Cold. Happy we got there in time.”

“Shit yeah. And don’t think I wasn’t impressed by your little James Bond act there, darlin’. Cool as fuck.”

“Thanks,” D’Artagnan said, warmed by the praise as much as by the car heating. “Who are those men who did this?”

“Big time crooks. Don’t care. They’re dead. They tried to kill our friends. Treville will eat them for lunch.”

“Good.”

D’Artagnan’s phone rang. “How is that still working?” Porthos asked.

“Waterproof case,” D’Artagnan said, pulling it out of his jeans with difficulty. “Hey, Aramis. Yeah, we found him. It’s a bit of a long story.”

************************

Athos would not leave Constance’s side, and after various staff members had tried to cajole and threaten him into doing so, they finally gave in. His only concession was to wear a blanket over his damp clothes, and accept a cup of sweetened tea which he held in one hand without drinking. Constance was sleeping, on a drip and wearing nasal canulae to deliver oxygen, under warmed blankets. Safe, unharmed, and with him. Athos couldn’t take his eyes off her in case it turned out to be a dream, and they were still in the water, waiting to die.

Someone entered the room, but he ignored them until they spoke. “Glad to see you safe, Athos.”

He turned. “Thank you, sir.”

Treville smiled, and pulled up a chair beside the bed. “I hear you’re being uncooperative towards those trying to ensure your wellbeing.”

Athos turned back to Constance. “I’m fine. It was Fèron. Fèron and Lucien Grimaud.”

“So Porthos said. You’re certain?”

“Completely. And Fèron admitted ordering Bonacieux’s death. I want him, sir. I want him in prison for the rest of his fucking life. Both of them.”

“Understood. How are you, really?”

“Cold. Grateful. Angry. Terrified.” He turned back to look at his boss. “Don’t let them hurt her again. Promise me.”

“You’ll both be under police guard until we have them in custody. Porthos and d’Artagnan are outside. Do you want to see them?”

“Of course. They saved her life.”

Treville nodded, and left the room. Athos returned to his vigil. He would not leave until he would leave with her.

“How is she?”

“Alive, thanks to you two,” Athos said to Porthos without turning. Then he felt his friend’s big hand on his shoulder, and he nearly wept for joy. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome.” That was d’Artagnan. “Why do this?”

“Philippe Fèron is the lover of the man who killed Sylvie’s father. I had to pay for helping to send the murderer to prison, and Constance’s death was to punish me.” Athos lifted her hand and kissed it, wishing it was warmer than it was.

“Fuck. That’s evil.”

“Yes.” Athos closed his eyes. He could still feel the water chilling him, the desperate clutch of Constance’s hands as she tried to hide her terror, the way her voice shook, and her eyes filled with tears. He remembered when he thought she had drowned, and how he died inside at the idea of a life without her in it.

“Hey, Athos.” Porthos shook him. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Come back to us, okay?”

He couldn’t speak. It was too much. But then Porthos wrapped his arms around him and he was free to let out the emotions choking him. “You’re okay,” Porthos murmured. “You’re okay.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah.”

Porthos held him until he could breathe without sobs, and compose himself. “Want some coffee?”

“They...want me to drink tea.”

“I can get you some. Love, stay with him for me, okay?”

“No worries.” D’Artagnan sat down in the other chair, putting his hand on Constance’s foot under the blankets. Athos felt if anyone had earned the right, D’Artagnan had. “So, fiancé?”

“We haven’t told anyone.”

“That’s fine, but congratulations anyway. How are you feeling and don’t say okay or I’ll find a nurse to give you an enema.”

Athos coughed out a laugh. “Just cold and...traumatised.”

“Yeah, I figured. They wanted to hurt you. You both should talk to someone about it.”

“I’ll be fine if they go to prison. Or die horribly.”

“Totally get that. But just talk to someone. And stay warm for a few days, okay? Don’t race back to work.”

“I understand. How are you?”

“Warmed up, finally. Really glad to see you both.”

Constance stirred, and Athos leaned over her. “Love?”

“Athos.”

“I’m here. You’re safe. No one will hurt you again.”

She reached up a hand to touch his face. “I was so afraid.”

“Me too.” He kissed her fingers. “D’Artagnan is here. He saved us.”

D’Artagnan moved closer. “How are you, Constance?”

“Cold. I don’t remember....”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you can’t.”

“Did they catch them?” she asked Athos.

“They will.”

Constance nodded, then frowned. “You’re wet.”

D’Artagnan cleared his throat. “Porthos has some dry clothes for you, Athos. And there’s a shower down the hall. You’d feel warmer if you were dry.”

Athos scowled at him. “I’m not leaving her.”

Constance tried to push herself upright on her own but the two men leapt into action to help her. She gave them a wry smile. “I’m not sick. Athos, go change, or you will be.”

“I’ll stay here,” D’Artagnan said. “And there are police on the door. She’ll be safe.”

Athos didn’t want to, but Porthos coming back to the room meant he had no further arguments to offer. “D’Artagnan, you go with him, make sure he doesn’t fall and crack his head.”

“I’m fine,” Athos said, glaring at his friend.

“Mate, you should see your face. You look like steak tartare. And your wrists are a mess.”

Athos unsuccessfully tried to hide them under the blanket, but D’Artagnan stopped him. “Jesus, Athos. Right. Shower, dry clothes and then I’m finding someone to wrap these. Did anyone check if you had a head injury?”

“Yes. Stop fussing.”

“Athos, stop being a dick.” The three men looked at Constance. “D’Artagnan, please look after him for me. Porthos, darling, come sit by me. Athos, I love you, so let the handsome paramedic take care of you.”

Porthos grinned. “And that’s you told.”

Athos had to smile at his love. “Bossy woman.”

“And you love it. Go.”

************************

Porthos settled down in the vacated chair. “He might be a while. Treville was just waiting for him to be ready to give a statement. They’ll need one from you too.”

“I don’t know much. They grabbed me as I was walking down the street. Oh god, my handbag. They still have it, and my phone.”

He grabbed her hand to stop her panicking. “Shhh, it’s okay. The phone will help us find the blokes who did this.”

“Oh. Why are there police outside? Am I under arrest? Can’t I go home?”

“No, they’re there for your protection and Athos’s. You can go home as soon as you want. What did the doctors say?”

“No idea.”

Porthos rang the call bell. “Then let’s find out.”

A nurse came in. “How are you feeling, Constance?”

“I’m fine. When can I go home?”

The nurse read the charts, and checked the monitors attached to Constance, and the drip. “I’ll let the doctor take a look.”

Constance sighed with frustration as the man left. “Still a prisoner.”

“Just looking after our precious lady,” Porthos said, patting her hand. “You worried the hell out of Athos.”

“He worries me. What if they try this again? It was all revenge, they said. What if that man comes out of prison and does this to us?”

“He won’t. Don’t think about it. We’ll keep you safe.”

“How did you find us?”

Porthos described finding the blood and working out something had happened, and how the police had tracked the car and phone. She listened intently, as if she planned to write an article about it all. “Um, you can’t blog about this just yet.”

“I won’t. Not yet.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “But I will.”

“Good for you.”

A doctor came into the room—Porthos checked her badge, just to be sure—and smiled at Constance. “So I hear you’re ready to leave, madame.” She picked up the notes and read them. “I see no reason to, but you are welcome to stay if you’d feel safer. Will you be with someone?”

“Yes.”

“Then do you want to go?”

“Yes!”

Porthos grinned, so did the doctor, who signed the chart. “Then you may. Please contact your own doctor if you have any concerns. I’ll have a nurse come in to disconnect the drip.”

“Thank you.”

As the doctor left, Constance pulled off the nasal canulae and went to climb out of the bed. “Whoa whoa whoa,” Porthos said. “Drip, remember? And what are you after?”

“Clothes. But they’ll all be wet,” she added forlornly.

“Ah....”

She looked at him. “Ah?”

“Athos had some of your clean stuff folded in his room. I figured you might want it.”

“You are a genius.”

Porthos chuckled. “Yeah, I am. It’s in the bag with Athos’s clothes so when he comes back, you can change.”

“Good.” She lay back on the pillows. “I realised something today. I really didn’t cause Jacques’s death. They did. They didn’t need to kill him but they did because they’re animals. Like they wanted to hurt Athos and didn’t care who they used to do it.”

“Yeah, that’s about right. Does that mean you and Athos are back together?”

She shook her head at him. “Silly. We were never apart. I’m going to marry him and have his babies.”

“Yeah? Good for you.”

They grinned at each other until the nurse returned and set about disconnected the drip and other monitors. “There you are, Constance. Please do have someone with you for the next day, okay?”

“Of course. I intend to have him with me forever.”

The man smiled uncertainly. “Okay, as you wish.”

“I do wish.”

Porthos wagged his finger at her when the nurse left. “You’re a terror.”

“I’m cranky. Nearly being murdered will do that to me. Where _is_ my fiancé?”

“Okay if I go look for him?”

“Please.”

Checking that there was still a guard on the door, and that they knew the guardee was alone in the room, Porthos headed down the corridor and spotted d’Artagnan leaning on a wall outside the bathroom. “He wouldn’t let me stay,” d’Artagnan said. “But he left the door unlocked when I insisted.”

“Bugger that,” Porthos said. “Why don’t you fetch yourself a coffee and I think Constance would love a cup of tea. She’s been discharged, and is breathing fire already.”

“Good for her.” D’Artagnan squeezed his shoulder. “Good luck with the mad wet cat.”

Porthos chuckled at the image, and pulled the bathroom door open, and strode into the shower area. “Oy, Athos, your missus to be is demanding your presence.” Athos leaned around the cubicle wall and glared, but before he could yell, Porthos quickly added, “and the police guard is still there, so she’s fine. Been discharged. She wants dry clothes.”

Athos emerged wearing a towel which he pulled off to dry himself with. “I thought the bra was for me.”

“I’m sure you’d looking fetching and all...you two shouldn’t go home tonight.”

Athos stopped towelling his hair. “Agreed.”

“Fancy ours for a couple of nights? They should have caught the bastards by then.”

“If you don’t mind. But d’Artagnan must be tired.”

“All in a day’s work for my husband the super hero. He’s fine. Aramis will want to smother you with love but I can put him off until tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Athos leaned against the wall. “Will this be it though? Once they charge Fèron? What about his friends, and their friends? I can’t put her through this again.”

“You think they’re that crazy?”

“He’s obsessed with pursuing grievances.”

“Yeah, but will his mates want to go to prison for a second-hand grudge?”

“You assume he’ll be convicted.” Athos had finished drying himself and started dressing. Porthos held out a pair of jeans for him.

“Hard to see he wouldn’t be.”

“Nothing is certain.”

Porthos handed him his shirt. “No, but there’s no point in worrying about it, my little ray of sunshine. Right now you need to go and attend your woman and keep her happy.”

“I’m surprised she wants anything to do with me now.”

Porthos rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Come on.”

Treville was waiting for them. “Athos, can you give me a statement now?”

“It’ll have to wait, boss, his woman’s waiting for him and breathing fire.”

Treville smirked. “I’ll give you ten minutes then. Porthos, I’ll need a statement from you too.”

“I’m free. My husband’s well behaved.”

Athos, who’d been heading down the corridor, slowly turned and gave Porthos the finger, before turning again and walking with immense dignity towards Constance’s room.

“I think he’s gonna be fine,” Porthos said, grinning at the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poetry is a translation of the first verse of ["Demain dès l'aube" by Victor Hugo](https://www.frenchtoday.com/french-poetry-reading/poem-demain-des-l-aube-hugo)


	14. Chapter 14

“How soon can we be married?”

Athos blinked at Constance’s greeting as he entered her room. “Er...the divorce will take a couple of months. I understand Anne is eager to get it over with. And you’ll have to prove you’re not pregnant.”

“Good. So let’s get married in January.” She held out her arms to him and he let her wrap them around him, while he held her tight. “I want to marry you, Athos, I want to move in with you immediately, and I never want anything stupid to come between us. All I could think of while we were in that tank was that at least we were together. If I had to die, I wanted to be in your arms.”

“Oh, love.” Athos hid his face in her shoulder, still unable to think of what had so nearly happened without becoming emotional. “I can’t promise we’ll be safe. That you’ll be safe, I mean. Fèron is a very dangerous man.”

“I know, and I don’t want to be safe. I want to be with _you_. And if it wasn’t for that stupid law, I’d insist you took me home to make a baby with me right now.”

Athos’s heart swelled to twice its size as he grinned against her neck. “For one, we’re not going home, because we need to stay away from our apartments for a couple of days, and two, you need to finish your final year of study so, I won’t.” He pulled back and kissed her. “You’re ready to leave?”

“Yes, I am. And I’m _starving._ ”

He laughed. “You must be feeling better.” He kissed her again, then handed her the bag. “Shower and dry clothes, madame?”

“God, yes, please.” She wobbled a little as he helped her out of bed. “Apparently someone has to be with me all the time for the next day or so. Wherever will I find someone?”

“Porthos is free.” She poked his nose. “Ah. Then I suppose it’s me.”

“Better be you, _monsieur_. I won’t be long.”

Athos smiled to himself at seeing Constance back to her old self. He occupied himself folding her damp clothes, and trying not to be lost in the memories of earlier in the day.

“Athos?”

He turned and found his boss in the doorway. “Sir, you said ten minutes.”

“Events have moved on. Fèron and Grimaud have been arrested. Is Constance fit?”

“Yes, sir, but needs to have an eye kept on her.”

“You both do. I want you both to come to Paris and speak to the magistrate. Are you up to it?”

“Yes, sir. Does that mean we can go back to our apartments tonight?”

Treville rubbed his chin. “I’d be happier if you didn’t, at least this weekend. We don’t have the men who helped them. Also, d’Artagnan tells me you still need medical treatment for your injuries. Ah, and here he is.” D’Artagnan stood in the door frame, holding two takeaway cups. “Leave the tea for Constance, d’Artagnan. Athos, go with him and get sorted out. That’s an order.”

“Can’t I wait for—”

“Go, Athos. Constance will cope with your absence for half an hour.”

Athos pursed his lips. “Very well.”

D’Artagnan kept a very firm hold on Athos’s shoulder, which Athos found insulting. He was cooperating. He didn’t need to be forced to be looked at.

“Man, you’re pretty when you’re pouting.”

Athos’s scowl deepened. “You’re patronising me.”

“And you’re being a lousy patient. Lucie, here’s the guy I told you about. Just look at his wrists, will you?”

“Oh dear,” the nurse said. “Those certainly need to be cleaned and dressed. Have you been in a fight, _monsieur_?”

“Of a kind.”

“He’s a cop, Lucie, and some charming gentlemen tried to kill him and his girlfriend. So be nice, but don’t let him out of your sight until you’re done. He has a rep of scooting out of medical care.”

The nurse gave d’Artagnan an evil smile. “Not from this medical carer. This way, _monsieur_....?”

“Athos,” Athos admitted grudgingly. “Will this take long?”

“Only if you give me shit. D’Artagnan, are you going to wait?”

“Oh yeah. I’ll cover the exits.”

 _Comedians_ , Athos thought.

Despite her forthright manner, Nurse Lucie was gentle as she cleaned the injuries on his face and dressed the wrists. When he grudgingly told her more details of the attack, and that he’d been hit in the head several times, she asked a number of questions about his mental faculties.

“I’ve been shot in the head. I do know what to look for.”

Instead of being reassured, she insisted on bring a doctor in who wanted much more information, and was wondering whether to order an MRI. “Please, doctor, this is unnecessary. I wasn’t knocked out. I was very cold, and had these,” he lifted his wrists, “but my brain is okay. As okay as it gets.”

“Will you be with someone for a couple of days?”

“Yes. People who know me very well.”

“Then ask them to keep an eye on things like drowsiness and your speech.”

Nurse Lucie, the traitor, mentioned d’Artagnan waiting outside, and he was dragged in to receive the care instructions. Only then was Athos allowed to leave and return to Constance.

“You’re welcome,” d’Artagnan said.

Athos only grunted. His foul mood was unfair but very real, and he just wanted to be done with all this, go back to Porthos’s place, and be with Constance.

************************

“I am not going into hiding for six months!” Athos’s eyebrow nearly met his hairline at her yelling, but Constance was too angry to care. “Why should I be punished because some creeps tried to kill me?”

“It’s not going into hiding, Constance,” Captain Treville said. “Not as such. We just want you and Athos to...take precautions. Have protection.”

“Move house!” She threw her hands up in the air. “And not even to a nice house!”

“That hasn’t been decided yet,” Athos said. “Though she has a point, sir.”

“We don’t have an unlimited number of safe houses, Athos, as you know.”

“If we found a place we liked, could it be a safe house?” Constance asked. “Why can’t you just arrest everyone who works for Fèron and Grimaud? I don’t see why we have to have our lives turned upside-down because they’re criminals?”

“Because we can’t,” Treville said, his lips thinning to invisibility. “This is for your benefit, you realise, or do you want to be picked off before those two come to trial?”

“I just want to get on with my life!” Damn it, she couldn’t stop yelling. Athos would think she was a harridan. “Captain, it’s been a horrible year. Well, except for, you know,” she added, smiling at her man.

“I understand. But what do you want us to do?”

Athos held up a hand. “Sir, if I could have the weekend, I might be able to arrange something. We’re staying with Porthos and d’Artagnan, so we’ll be easy to watch there.”

“If you wish, Athos. I don’t want to upset the pair of you any more than Constance wants to be.”

“Then, may we go home?”

“Yes, of course. Call me on Monday, let me know what you’ve come up with.”

Constance allowed her fiancé to lead her to the car pool, and install her in the passenger seat of an unmarked vehicle. “We’ll go to your apartment first so you can collect some clothes, then mine,” Athos said as the driver set off.

“Fine. What arrangements are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. It might upset you.”

“Athos!”

He turned to her. “Trust me.”

And just like that, she calmed down. “Of course.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “I don’t want to live in a lousy apartment either, but I would endure anything if you were safe.”

D’Artagnan welcomed them as they arrived at his and Porthos’s place. “Spare bed’s all set up, and you should have enough space to put your clothes.”

“Thank you for this,” Athos said, smiling. Constance couldn’t help but notice that Athos’s attitude to d’Artagnan had become even friendlier since he’d saved their lives. Funny that.

“May I cook as a thank you?” she asked.

D’Artagnan shrugged. “If you want. I mean, I cook and so does he, but if you want something to do, sure.”

“I do. I’m jumping out of my skin a bit.”

Athos put his hand on her shoulder. “While you and d’Artagnan sort that out, I need to make some phone calls in the bedroom.”

“Okay.”

D’Artagnan showed her what supplies they had. “You really don’t need to, though.”

“I want to. I’m still cranky that we’re the ones who have to hide just because Fèron’s an evil bastard.”

“At least you’re alive to complain. How are you feeling?”

“Apart from the crankiness? A little bit of a headache, and tired. Not tired enough to sleep.”

“That’s the cold, I guess. You take it easy. You can boss me around to your instructions if you like.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “ _Monsieur_ , do you know what kind of offer you are making there?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I like you, Constance. You have such a dirty mind.”

************************

“Yes, Papa, I know it’s an upheaval for them. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“You aren’t doing this to be vindictive, Athos?”

“No, Papa. I know Thomas and Anne are going to stay together. I’m moving on with someone I love very much.”

His father coughed. “A woman we haven’t met.”

“A woman you will meet as soon as I can arrange it. Please, Papa. Call Thomas and ask him to contact me?”

His father agreed and Athos closed the call. He rubbed his forehead. If only Anne hadn’t decided to cheat on him with his only sibling, his life would be so much simpler. He missed Thomas, but he couldn’t yet forgive him. Thomas had never asked for forgiveness, which was part of the problem. Athos wondered if his relationships with his family would ever be normal again.

Ten minutes later, his phone rang with an unknown number. “Hello?”

“Athos, it’s me.”

Athos sucked in a breath. “Anne, I wanted to speak to Thomas.”

“I know. I wanted to apologise for what happened the other day. They threatened him. Us. Our lives.”

“I know. I don’t blame you for that. They just tried to murder us. Constance and me.”

“Oh God.” She sounded genuinely anguished. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. But this is why I need the apartment. We can’t stay where we are, and the safe houses here are vile.”

“We want to move. The police say we’re not safe here either. It’s hard when Thomas can’t leave his job.”

“His friend would be complicit in his murder?”

“We don’t know. I don’t know anything about this, Athos,” she said, wailing a little. “One minute we were getting with our lives, and the next minute this bastard throws a grenade.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Yes, I suppose you do. I suppose you think this is only justice.”

“No. I’ve moved on. I don’t want either of you dead. He’s my _brother_.”

A long silence. “We’ll move. I need time to arrange it.”

“Of course.”

“And police protection.”

“I’ll talk to my boss. It won’t be a problem, not after today.”

“Thank you.”

“And I, uh, I’m seeing the lawyer tomorrow. For the divorce.”

“Okay. Should go through pretty fast.”

“Hope so. Athos...I’m sorry. I never wanted things to be this way.”

Athos felt his chest tighten. “Me either,” he managed to say.

“Does she make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. Thomas will be in touch. Stay safe.”

“You too.”

She hung up. Athos hugged himself, willing the tears in his eyes not to fall. He still loved Anne—even with everything that had passed, could not imagine not loving her—but he never wanted to live with her again. It might be possible one day to be in the same room as her without him having a panic attack, or at least a bad headache, but he was nowhere near that yet.

He called Captain Treville and let him know what he was negotiating. He waited until he could present a calm face to his friend and his love, then left the bedroom. Constance looked up and moved over to him immediately. “Athos, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything is fine.”

“Then what...?”

“I had to speak to Anne.” Constance took his hands and he squeezed them. “My parents own property in Paris, and Anne and Thomas are living in an apartment there. I thought, if it was possible to shuffle things around, we could stay there, while Anne and Thomas moved to a new place. Which they want to do anyway, because they’re under threat as well. She, ah, agreed.”

“Oh Athos. This is why you didn’t want to tell me.” He nodded. “You are such a love.” She kissed him. “Thank you.”

The tightness in his chest loosened. “You’re welcome. It’s closer to work and your university too.”

“You’re not planning to abandon us, are you?” d’Artagnan asked.

“No. I’m happy here. But I want a better apartment for the two of us.”

“We can look for that as soon as you want,” Constance said. “So long as it’s near these guys, and Aramis and Sylvie.”

Athos smiled, his heart now light again. “Of course.”

“Maybe we should buy a building,” d’Artagnan said. “And build a crèche. Looks like we’re going to need one.”

“Not a bad idea,” she said, grinning at Athos. “Lots of babies, remember?”

“Lots. Dozens. D’Artagnan as babysitter.”

“Hang on....”

Constance laughed, and Athos swung her around, just because he could. Someone had tried to murder them today, he’d had to speak to Anne, and he had a headache.

But right now his heart was filled with joy and love, and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> France really does have an extraordinary law that a divorced or married woman cannot remarry within 300 days unless she presents a certificate to prove she is not pregnant. Ick.


End file.
